


We are not wise (and not very often kind)

by BrighteyedJill



Series: Potential [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: (none of which is between Aiden and Lambert), Alcohol, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Axii (The Witcher), Come Eating, Dirty Talk, Feelings, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, I shook a witcher and intergenerational trauma fell out, Jaskier's bad relationship advice, Lambert is an angry defensive mess, M/M, Mild Praise Kink, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Misunderstandings, Monster of the Week, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Aiden, adventures in bomb-y fishing, but they're being very careful with each other, minor Lambert/OMC (past), two highly traumatized people learning to enjoy sex are gonna have a few hiccups
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:35:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26290492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrighteyedJill/pseuds/BrighteyedJill
Summary: Lambert does not trust the Cat witcher he keeps running into, because people are un-fucking-trustworthy. But he's starting to think Aiden might not actually be as terrible as everyone else.Or: five times Aiden and Lambert did not get together, and one time they did.(can be read without Part 1 of this series)
Relationships: Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher)
Series: Potential [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1910167
Comments: 219
Kudos: 411





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A word on the non-con: this refers to past experiences of the characters, some of which are explored in the previous work in this series. It's not necessary to read that to appreciate this fic. All you need to know is that Lambert was sexually abused by an instructor at Kaer Morhen, and the sacking happened before he could get any kind of closure or vengeance. 
> 
> Title from this wonderful [Mary Oliver poem, Don't Hesitate](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/DqoyvbrWkAIjRK2.jpg), which includes some advice Lambert could really use. Thanks to hobbitdragon for beta-ing!

Lambert was crouched by a tree rubbing relict oil on his sword when someone cleared their throat behind him. 

No one could sneak up on him except another witcher, and whichever witcher it was had announced his presence, meaning he was unlikely to attack. Lambert didn’t give them the satisfaction of startling, only turned slowly, casually, expecting perhaps Geralt, over-mutated freak that he was. 

But it was an unfamiliar man: keen yellow-green eyes and dark, wavy hair that gave him a rakish look, with a moustache and a neatly trimmed beard. His lithe and lean form was clad in light armor, built for speed and maneuverability and of excellent quality. Even before Lambert’s eyes landed on the medallion, he knew what the other witcher was.

“Cat.” Lambert nodded, then turned back to his sword, seemingly unconcerned. He finished up with the relict oil, but kept an ear out for motion.

After a moment, the other witcher said, “Aiden.”

Lambert didn’t bother answering. He efficiently packed away his supplies, swung his bag onto his shoulder, and set off down the trail. To Lambert’s great annoyance, the other witcher hurried after him and fell into step beside him.

“Name’s Aiden. School of the Cat, which you already know.” He was smiling at Lambert, like he expected some kind of friendly answer from the witcher whose contract he was trying to steal. “And you are?”

“Lambert. Wolf. So pleased to make your acquaintance.” Lamber paused to perform an elaborate bow, then gave _Aiden_ an emphatic two-finger salute and started walking again. “And now you can fuck right off.”

“Don’t think I will.” Aiden walked beside him. “I heard the village headman say there’s a fiend here. That’s a two-man job, easily.”

“You think I can’t handle a single fiend on my own?” Lambert sneered. 

“I’m saying it’d be easier with two,” Aiden said with a shrug.

Well, the man wasn’t wrong, but that was beside the point. Lambert was not hunting with a _stranger._ “I’m not sharing the fee. It’s shit money to begin with.”

“And you don’t mind risking your life against a fiend for shit money?”

“That’s the gig, buddy.” Glamorous life of a witcher. Just an endless parade of contracts for not enough pay, crowds of sneering, suspicious villagers, and a burnt-out wreck of a keep full of shitty memories to hunker down in over the winter. Lambert quickened his pace. “Go find your own monster.”

Aiden slowed, then stopped, letting Lambert continue without him. Which, ok, Lambert hadn’t actually expected him to fuck off when asked, so that was a pleasant surprise. Maybe that’s why when Aiden called, “Lambert!” he actually stopped, though he stopped himself from turning back to look.

“What?” 

“Good luck,” Aiden said. 

Lambert glanced back to see a smile on the other witcher’s face, then turned back to the trail and strode off towards his prey.  
\--

Lambert rolled, but when he came up, the fiend had moved faster than he’d expected. It stood right before him, fixing him with its third eye. Lambert froze, then swayed a little on his feet as the eye filled all his vision.

Stupid mistake. Lambert knew better to stop moving long enough for a fiend to hypnotize him. But somehow that didn’t seem to matter at the moment. Nothing seemed to matter. He could feel the warmth of its body getting closer, hear the rasp of its foul breath, and he couldn’t move.

Then the monster screamed in pain, and Lambert staggered back, his vision clearing in time to see a crossbow bolt standing out of the monster’s now-useless third eye. Lambert whipped his head around to see Aiden perched in a tree at the edge of the clearing, calmly reloading his crossbow. 

Lambert swung back into motion, hammering relentlessly at the fiend and dodging its attacks until it began to slow. He had this. He would have had it even without help, though of course there was a chance that being hypnotized really would have been one mistake too far. And a witcher only needed to make one mistake to become a dead witcher. He concentrated on staying one step ahead of the monster and did not look at the Cat. If the man wanted to shoot Lambert in the back, he would, and then at least Lambert wouldn’t have to suffer the indignity of having been killed by a single fiend.

Lambert might have indulged in a few more vicious slashes than were really necessary to make sure the thing was dead, but he wouldn’t leave anything to chance. This was his kill, no matter what that smug Cat thought. He couldn’t afford to settle for half the fee for this job, so if the Cat insisted on payment, it’d have to be something else. 

Lambert’s mind skittered away from that thought. He set about chopping the fiend’s head from its body before harvesting the other useful bits. 

He was filling a pouch with fragments of broken bone when the Cat appeared at the edge of his vision. His crossbow was packed away, and he was observing the monster corpse with a satisfied smile. “We make a good team, you and I.”

“I didn’t fucking ask for your help!” Lambert snapped. He wrenched another piece of bone out of the mangled carcass and clenched his teeth. 

“It looked like you needed it.” Aiden’s smile widened. 

“I had things under control,” Lambert muttered. He probably would have shaken off the hypnosis in time to defend himself. Probably. But he hunched further over the carcass, hiding his face.

“Did you.” Aiden sounded amused. Not disbelieving, not even angry, just… like he was sharing a joke.

Lambert whirled around and glared at him. He wanted to stab something, preferably this arrogant little shit. 

“You could say thank you.” Aiden raised an eyebrow, and his smile didn’t fade.

Oh, right. Suddenly, Lambert knew where the familiar sinking feeling was coming from. The Cat hadn’t said anything about the contract money yet, but when did anyone ever do a favor for Lambert unless they wanted something in return?

“Right.” He could kill this witcher. Well, maybe not right now. His potion stock was low, and that fight had taken quite a bit out of him, while the Cat had just watched from the trees. And Cats were tricky. Aiden wouldn’t hesitate to press his advantage in an unfair fight. Lambert said tightly, “You want me to thank you.” 

“It’d be nice.”

“You promise you’ll go away if I do?” Lambert asked. He turned back towards the fiend carcass, but didn’t bother to continue his pretense of harvesting ingredients. He’d as good as admitted he’d accommodate the Cat. If he couldn’t fight the man, and couldn’t afford to pay him off, he had little alternative.

“I’m comfortable here, actually.” Aiden leaned against the furred bulk of the fiend, and crossed his arms over his chest like he was settling in for a lazy afternoon on a riverbank. 

Lambert’s face flushed as anger choked him. The fucking arrogance. Like Aiden had not a worry in the world about making Lambert give him what he wanted, whenever he wanted it. Well, Lambert was _not_ going to spend the rest of the day watching his back with that awful twisting knot in his stomach as he dreaded what was to come. 

“I’m not sitting around waiting for you to collect on your fucking thank you. I’m leaving.” Lambert pulled shut the drawstring on the bag of parts and shoved it in his saddlebag, which he hoisted onto his shoulder. He gave one last regretful look to the rest of the corpse, then turned and started for his horse.

“You haven’t harvested the teeth yet.” Aiden said. He took two steps after Lambert, still with that smug fucking grin. “The teeth are the most valuable part.”

“I know the teeth are the--” Lambert huffed out a breath. He needed the money. But not that badly. “Fine. Why don’t you take the teeth. As a thank you.”

“That’s not what I want as a thank you.”

Of course. Of fucking course. It never was. Lambert dropped his saddlebags, rounded on Aiden, and stomped right up to him. The man looked positively delighted, yellow-green eyes alight as if in anticipation. Lambert just wanted this fucking over.

He dropped to his knees and yanked at the fastenings on Aiden’s trousers. He’d show this asshole “thank you.” Make him come in three minutes flat and be able to talk shit about Cat witchers for years. The bastard was already hard in his unnecessarily tight leather breeches. And if Lambert was too, well, that was just what happened after a fight. 

“Wait.” Aiden grabbed Lambert’s wrists and dragged his hands away. 

Lambert scowled up at him. “If you’re expecting me to beg, or call you ‘sir’ or some shit, fuck off.”

Aiden folded to his knees gracefully, so he was eye to eye with Lambert, still holding onto him. “This isn’t what I meant by saying thank you.”

Lambert clenched his jaw. Aiden needed to stop being coy and just come out and say it. He wanted Lambert under him, wanted to fuck him, really show Lambert how above him he was. 

Lambert didn’t want to get fucked. For one thing, he didn’t have any proper oil. Used the last of it with that Redanian duke in exchange for pardoning the son of Lambert’s client, who hadn’t even killed the stags he’d been accused of poaching, because of course it had been a fucking griffin. Definitely more work than Lambert bargained for when he took the contract. And yeah, ok, getting fucked dry wasn’t going to kill him, but he had a long way to ride tomorrow and obviously Aiden wasn’t going to make this easy on him. 

Lambert ripped his hands out of Aiden’s grip and held them clenched at his sides. Not defensive. He just didn’t want Aiden touching him. He could smell that Aiden was aroused. It wasn’t some fucking _mystery_ what Aiden wanted from him. There was no need to make a big production of it. 

Lambert pushed to his feet, and Aiden rose with him. “Just say what you fucking want, Cat. I don’t have time for this. What, are blow jobs not good enough for you?”

Several expressions flashed across Aiden’s face in quick succession, and Lambert couldn’t read any of them.

“I just… say the words,” Aiden said quietly. “Out loud. Say ‘thank you.’”

“Thank you,” Lambert spat. If it was going to be like this, wanting to puppet Lambert’s every move, it was going to be a long fucking night.

“You are very welcome, Lambert.” Aiden looked at him for a long moment, and then turned and said over his shoulder, “I’ll see you around.” 

He strode over to his horse while Lambert stood blinking after him. Aiden mounted in one smooth movement, gave a quick wave, and turned his horse back towards the road, leaving Lambert behind.

That was the first time.


	2. Chapter 2

Lambert followed a posting at a crossroad to Bremervoord only to hear from a fisherman that a witcher had already been employed to solve the community’s recent sea monster problem. He walked the several miles down the beach to the monster’s reported lair anyway, out of professional curiosity. No other reason. He just wanted to see what kind of monster it was.

When Lambert heard the sounds of combat, steel on tough hide, growling and splashing, he quickened his pace. Just as he rounded a rocky outcropping, he saw a witcher floundering in the shallow water, fighting for his life against an enraged juvenile kraken. Though the thing was smaller by far than an adult, and not as heavily armored, it was still the size of a fishing boat. Its many legs were lashing at the water and at the witcher, who was moving with impressive speed to knock back the attacks. Lambert sure as shit wouldn’t want to be facing a monster like that alone, standing in the water where he could easily be pulled under. When the witcher turned to dodge a blow, Lambert saw his face. 

It was that fucking Cat. 

Lambert considered turning around and walking away. He really did. Aiden might have saved Lambert from that fiend and only asked for a literal “thank you” in return, but that didn’t make him a good or even a decent person. Lambert had scared off many an asshole with his direct approach. Some people wanted their manipulations a little more sugar coated, a bit more deniable. Fuck those people. At least the ones who would demand that kind of payment from Lambert were honest in their shittiness. Lambert owed this guy nothing.

Aiden’s movements were slowing. Fighting in the water was exhausting, Lambert knew. If the Cat didn’t kill the thing soon, he was going to lose. Lambert watched as Aiden lunged forward to avoid a blow from the thing’s tail, and slashed wide, leaving himself open. Lambert shouted, pointing at the oncoming attack, and Aiden whirled to look at the source of the noise. His eyes widened when he saw Lambert. The kraken wrapped a tentacle around Aiden’s torso and dragged him under the waves with a splash.

Lambert cursed, watched the churning water for a moment, then pulled his sword and ran. The kraken had reared up far enough out of the water that Lambert had a clear view of its back. The thing was thoroughly engaged in mauling Aiden about, so Lambert was able to approach without being noticed, the sound of his boots sloshing through the surf camouflaged by Aiden’s panicked flailing in the deeper water. 

With a promise to himself that if this thing killed him he would come back and haunt every Cat witcher alive, Lambert jumped on the kraken’s back and plunged his steel sword down to sever its spine. It shrieked once and thrashed hard enough to break Lambert’s grip on his sword, dumping him off its back and into the ocean swell. Then it dropped, the bulk of its body landing with an enormous splash. 

Lambert righted himself and surfaced, coughing sea water out of his lungs. He swam back to the kraken’s corpse, which was still twitching, grabbed hold of his sword, braced a foot against the kraken’s scaly hide, and tugged it out with a rush of black blood and ichor. He left the body rocking in the waves and found Aiden in the shallow water, trying to drag himself up onto the beach with one arm.

“My hero,” Aiden rasped when Lambert came to give him a hand up. 

He clung to Lambert, his face very close now that they were both standing. Aiden’s eyes were alight with the fire of one who'd narrowly escaped death. His lips parted, gulping in air as he stared Lambert in the eye. 

Lambert knew how it was to be burning up with potions and adrenaline, desperately horny and hungry and needing something to consume. But just because he understood didn’t mean he had to take it. 

Lambert clenched his jaw, ready to strike Aiden if he had to. But Aiden swayed away, grunting in pain and curling around his injured arm.

“Broken?” Lambert asked. Not that he cared. It wasn’t his business. And if Aiden died, hey, he could probably get the townspeople to give him whatever bounty they were going to pay for the kraken.

“Shoulder,” Aiden hissed. “Dislocated.”

Lambert grunted, then grabbed for Aiden’s arm, braced a hand against his back, and shoved the joint back aright. 

Aiden made a strangled noise, then said, “A little warning would have been nice.”

“I’ll leave you to die next time,” Lambert shrugged.

“Get the teeth for a trophy, and I’ll give you half the fee.”

“You should give me half the fee anyway,” Lamber grumbled. But he waded back out to the bulk of the kraken’s body and pried loose a couple of the incisors that would impress Aiden’s employer. 

Once Lambert was back on dry ground, he noticed that the sun was already sinking below the horizon, turning the water into a glowing purple expanse. The tide was coming in, sweeping up the sandy stretches Lambert had walked to get here and lapping at the cliff walls. 

“There’s a cave here above the water line,” Aiden said. He gestured up the beach towards an open cave mouth where Lambert could just make out the dark outline of Aiden’s horse. 

Lambert grunted in acknowledgement. He’d left most of his things where he’d stabled his horse, so he didn’t have a bedroll or much else, but that didn’t matter, since there was no chance he’d be sleeping while a fucking Cat was lying in wait. A hot meal in the local tavern would have been nice, though.

Lambert looked out at the waves again. “You have a plan for supper?” he asked. 

“Kraken meat?” Aiden asked, smirking. When Lambert pulled a small bomb out of his supply and chucked it into the waves, Aiden said, “I was kidd--”

The blast sent water spraying up and away from the impact and a bevy of seabirds flapping away and squawking in alarm. When the commotion died down, Lambert waded in to collect the stunned fish while Aiden made incredulous noises behind him. 

Well if he didn't like it, he could eat kraken meat and choke on it.

Lambert picked up as many fish as he could reasonably carry, and then had to admit that perhaps the bomb had been overkill. But whatever, the birds would be happy, and Lambert would have dinner. In fact, the number of fish he collected was probably more than he needed. He _could_ eat all of them, of course. He was used to not knowing where his next meal was coming from and taking what he could get when he could get it. But for now, if he needed more food, he had plenty of bombs. 

By the time he climbed up into the cave with the tide at his heels, Aiden had built a respectable fire out of driftwood and was arranging his things on one side of the cave.

“You eat fish?” Lambert asked.

“I’m a Cat,” Aiden said, with the ghost of a smile. 

Lambert wasn’t gonna dignify a joke that stupid by laughing at it. Instead, he gutted and spitted the fish and then propped them up over the fire to roast.

All his clothing was soaked. In the evening breeze rushing in off the ocean, he started to feel the cold. He dumped the water out of his boots, and set them by the fire to dry. Then he leaned against the wall, resigning himself to staying damp until he was reunited with his supplies. 

“I have some spares.” Aiden had his own armor set aside and was pulling on a dry shirt.

“Nothing that would fit me.” Not that Lambert was looking at Aiden, really. He had just noticed his size as a possible opponent. 

“Hm. You’re not as broad as you think.” Aiden tossed something at him, and Lambert caught it reflexively. It was a thick, tight-woven shirt and a pair of hose, both dry and warm-looking. 

Lambert looked up to tell Aiden he didn’t want anything of his, thank you very much, but quickly looked away when he saw Aiden shimmying out of his breeches to put on dry ones. Just as if he didn’t care a jot that Lambert might see him. 

Well, two could play at that fucking game. Lambert didn’t have anything to be ashamed of. He stripped off armor, then his clothes, and pulled on the dry ones, which did, to Lambert’s annoyance, fit quite well.

Aiden hummed to himself as he strung a line to hang up his wet things, adding Lambert’s without asking. Lambert turned the fish on the spit. When they were done, he took a few himself and gestured at Aiden to take the others. 

They weren’t bad, in Lambert’s opinion--they were hot anyway, and it was food. Aiden even got a bag of salt out of his pack so they could sprinkle some on.

When they’d eaten and were both sitting in dry clothes on opposite sides of the fire, Aiden said, “Thank you. For…” He waved a hand towards the mouth of the cave. “I appreciate it.”

Lambert shrugged. Aiden had damn well better appreciate it. He would have been Kraken food for sure if Lambert hadn’t been there. “Cats shouldn’t be in the water.”

“A contract’s a contract,” Aiden shrugged.

“You so hard up?”

“There’s less work for us every year. All of us. When I can get them, I prefer contracts that are for actual monsters.” Aiden leaned back against his pack. “What, you get to pick and choose?”

Lambert grunted and poked at the fire. 

Aiden fell silent for a moment, and Lambert thought he might actually be left in peace. Perhaps Lambert could just sit here and stare into the fire for the next six hours or so like he wanted. 

But of course Aiden wasn’t going to just leave him alone. He said, “Well, maybe you’re used to a cushier lifestyle. You Wolves are supposed to be prosperous. Those are nice swords. Did you--”

“They’re just swords. Nothing special,” Lambert snapped. The swords had been with him long enough he didn’t often think about where they’d come from. Wasn’t worth dwelling on. Master Torrin had been assigned to a new year group after Lambert had left, but he was dead, and whatever poor kid he’d picked out to make miserable was dead, too. It wasn’t anyone’s business anymore, and certainly not anything Lambert was going to discuss with a total stranger. “I have to leave as soon as the tide goes out.”

Aiden shook his head. “Do you try to get rid of everyone? Or is it that you already have friends and aren't looking for new ones?”

Friends. As if any witcher had friends. Lambert had his brothers, but that wasn’t the same. When he had to go to Kaer Morhen, they had to take him in, but they’d get over it if he bit it on the Path. Besides, it was clear Aiden was after a different kind of companionship. He smelled of a low-simmering lust, even if he hadn't made a move yet.

“Maybe I just have standards,” Lambert sneered.

“Uh-huh.” Aiden leaned forward and peered at him, greenish eyes alight with the reflection of the fire. “Do you think I’m going to hurt you? Is that it?”

“You’re a Cat.”

“Well.” Aiden waved a hand dismissively. “But all that tournament nonsense was before I was born. And I know it’s before you were born.”

“You don’t know how old I am.”

“Sure I do. It’s always in the accent.” Aiden cocked his head. “I’m going to guess… Kaedwini, 1180 to 1190, or thereabouts?”

Lambert blinked at him, then narrowed his eyes, suddenly suspicious. “You didn’t guess that from my accent.”

“So I’m right?” Aiden threw back his head and laughed, baring a very elegant stretch of throat. “Excellent. I’m on a streak.”

“How the fuck did you know that?” Lambert demanded. 

“I listen.” Aiden looked extremely smug. “It’s sort of a… hobby. I listen wherever I go, and sometimes try my hand at blending in. Villagers will be nicer to you if you talk like a local peasant.”

“Bullshit.” If that were true, Lambert would be Kaedwen’s favorite witcher. He was not.

“Well, there may be a minimum level of manners required for that to work, I suppose.”

“What’s yours?” Lambert asked.

“My what?” Aiden asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Your accent.” Now that Aiden mentioned it, Lambert couldn’t place it. “Where are you from?”

“Nazair.”

“How’d you become a Cat if you were born in Nazair?”

“Well,” Aiden began, “when--”

“You know what, nevermind. I don’t care.” Why the fuck was Lambert making small talk with this guy? He did not give a single fuck about Aiden’s past, or his future, for that matter. Lambert stood and went to look out at the water where the waves were reflecting back a rippling image of the moon.

Eventually, Aiden said. “It’ll be hours before the tide goes down enough to head back to town. We should get some sleep.”

“I’m not tired.” Lambert came back into the cave and threw himself down by the fire. Even with warm clothes, the breeze off the ocean was chilly.

“Take a blanket.” Aiden tossed a rolled-up wool blanket, which Lambert caught easily. “I have my bedroll.”

“I told you, I’m not tired,” Lambert grumbled.

Aiden sighed. “Do you not want to sleep because you think I’ll attack you?”

“I’m not any kind of concerned about you attacking me,” Lambert growled. As if he couldn’t take Aiden in a fight. He wasn’t the one who’d almost been eaten by a kraken today.

“Here.” Aiden drew an unfamiliar sign that looked a bit like Quen and traced his hand in a circle around his bedroll. The shape glowed a bright white for a moment, then faded into invisibility. But when Aiden reached an arm over the line, a high-pitched whine shrilled out, causing Lambert to clap his hands over his ears. It stopped as soon as Aiden drew back his arm. “Little alarm system. You’ll know if I go anywhere.”

“Yeah, very useful,” Lambert sneered. “You can banish that whenever it’s convenient.”

“Suit yourself. I’m exhausted. Some of us fought a kraken very valiantly today, and didn’t just wade in at the end to strike a killing blow. I’ll see you in the morning.” Aiden huddled down in his bedroll and turned his back towards the fire. 

“I’m leaving as soon as the tide goes out,” Lambert reminded him.

“If you’re still here at dawn, I’ll cook you breakfast,” Aiden said, without looking back.

He might as well stay, Lambert thought. It would be safer to travel in the daylight anyway.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind the tags, please. This chapter does contain threatened non-con, as well as Lambert's skewed understanding of consent.
> 
> I also feel I should specify that I picture Aiden as [as played by Santiago Cabrera](https://eliza-betho.tumblr.com/post/622219486193500160/portrait-of-aiden-by-the-wonderful).
> 
> Continuing thanks to hobbitdragon for cheerleading and beta work!

Lambert watched nekker after nekker swarm out of the nest and disappear into the tunnels. It was hard to tell through the dappled light filtering through the dense foliage, but some of them might have had the red-painted faces of warriors. Lambert cursed silently, and crawled backwards away from the top of the hill from which he’d been reconnoitering. There were a lot of the bastards, which explained why they’d suddenly come to the attention of the residents of Murivel: lots of nekkers needed lots of food.

Lambert had bombs, and Igni, but with that many of the fuckers, they might very well be able to throw enough bodies at him to bring him down. “Even the most skilled witcher can fall against multiple foes,” Torrin had always said. “Better have someone to watch your back.” Right, like that was so easy. 

Lambert couldn’t go to the alderman and tell him to send to the duke for some soldiers. Bad enough that Lambert was here on this contract, after his last dealings with this particular duke. He sure as shit wasn’t about to draw attention to the fact that he was in this territory, let alone ask for a favor. 

There might be an alternative, however. When Lambert had brought his pauldrons into town this morning for some quick repairs, the armorer had said, “You’re the second witcher I’ve seen in a week. Didn’t have any use for that one, so we sent him packing right quick.”

 _Yeah, and now you have monsters snatching children, wonder why._ “What’d he look like?” Lambert asked.

“Same as the rest of you,” the armorer shrugged. “Mean and ugly.”

Lambert hadn’t thought about it much at the time: good luck for Lambert that he was the one to get the contract. But if the witcher wasn’t travelling too fast, Lambert might be able to catch up. That was probably his best chance for facing the nekkers. 

With a quick stop at the armorer’s to ask which way the witcher had gone (north), Lambert retrieved his horse and set off at a brisk pace. He wasn’t certain what he’d find. After all, “mean and ugly” could describe almost any witcher. Lambert was holding out hope for Eskel, whose Igni would make destroying the nekkers no trouble at all. 

In the next village, a merchant pointed Lambert to the tavern where a witcher was drinking, apparently celebrating the defeat of several wraiths that had been terrorizing the local granary. Lambert scanned the crowd in the tavern and sighed deeply when he spotted who he was looking for. 

Aiden waved Lambert over with a grin, and even flagged down a barmaid to bring Lambert some ale.

“Lambert!” The Cat’s hair had grown out into long, glossy waves, and his cheeks were flushed, most likely from the drinking. “This is a pleasant surprise. To what--”

“Nest of nekkers in Murivel.” Lambert dropped into the chair opposite Aiden. “Big one. I’ll give you forty percent of the fee.”

“I was just in Murivel.” Aiden gestured with his tankard. “They said there was no work.”

“Hadn’t noticed the nest yet. Now they have,” Lambert said tersely. “You coming or not?”

Aiden leaned in and peered at Lambert. “To be clear, you’re asking me to fight with you.”

“Yes.”

Aiden took another sip of ale, but he didn’t take his eyes off of Lambert. “Not that I don’t think we’d make a good team. I think we mesh quite well, in fact. But the last few times it’s happened, you didn’t seem happy with the situation.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t have much of a choice.” Lambert looked out over the tavern to get out from under Aiden’s persistent gaze. “You’re the only witcher I’ve run into for months.”

“Thought you Wolves were pack creatures,” Aiden said, tapping his chin.

“Not enough of us left for that,” Lambert said. Not that what the Wolves did was any of Aiden’s business. “You want in on this job or not?”

Lambert glared at Aiden while he considered. If Aiden said no, Lambert would have to figure out a way to deal with the nest alone. He might be able to lure the nekkers out in small groups to reduce the odds of his getting swarmed. But that would take time: several days at least, perhaps a week. And the more time Lambert spent in Murivel, the more likely it was that the duke would hear of Lambert’s presence and demand something of him. Lambert didn’t want to be looking over his shoulder the whole time he was fighting. 

On the other hand, if Aiden said yes, he and Lambert could wrap this up in a single night and walk away with gold in their pockets before the duke even knew Lambert had been there. Either way, there’d be a price.

Aiden was frowning, giving Lambert a searching look. He was going to say no. It was clear from his full purse that he didn’t need the coin, and he might not want to backtrack if he had a next destination in mind. He didn’t owe Lambert any favors; they’d both saved each other’s asses now, so there was no obligation between them. 

Or perhaps Aiden was just waiting for a better offer. Shit, Lambert should have realized that sooner. He knew Aiden wanted him, he’d smelled it on him before, smelled it even now. And here Lambert had come, serving himself up on a platter, begging for a favor.

Lambert didn’t _really_ care about letting someone fuck him if it made a job easier. A witcher traded pain for coin anyway, so what did it matter what kind? He’d started letting it happen early in his career, and it set a precedent. But he didn’t give a shit. Really he didn’t. Not like the usual assholes who liked to see a witcher on his knees could properly hurt Lambert. 

A fellow witcher, however, was a different story. Aiden could definitely hurt him. But he hadn’t been a total dick the last two times they’d met, so even if he did fuck Lambert, it wasn’t likely to be in even the top ten most unpleasant fucks of Lambert’s life. 

If it was a matter of offering Aiden some accommodation now rather than waiting around for the duke to demand some, Lambert knew what he’d prefer. “I’ll make it worth your while,” Lambert grumbled, staring at the table.

“Sixty percent,” Aiden said.

Lambert’s head snapped up, and he stared at Aiden. 

Aiden met his eyes and held them. “I’ll do it for sixty percent of the fee, not forty percent.”

“Fifty,” Lambert said warily.

“All right, fifty it is.” Aiden kicked back in his chair, grinning. “We leaving now, or you want to wait until morning?”

Lambert stared at Aiden. Was he dense, or did he only want to be certain of getting a fair share of the fee in addition to what else was on offer? Maybe he was trying to be funny.

“It’s late, and I already paid for a room,” Aiden said. “Don’t mind sharing.”

“Fine,” Lambert said, and drained his ale. He already knew Aiden was the type who wanted to feel like this was all ok, this was Lambert’s choice. So be it. Let him pretend he was oh-so-generously sharing his room, then inviting Lambert into his bed, and so on from there. It didn’t really matter so long as what Aiden wanted didn’t incapacitate Lambert, and he kept his word to help fight. 

Lambert followed Aiden up the stairs to his room. He dumped his things on the floor just inside, shut the door behind him, and waited for Aiden to say what he wanted. Aiden’s own gear was neatly arranged: a cozy little domestic scene with his potions all lined up on the table and a folded pile of clean clothes on a chair, and his armor stacked neatly in a corner. It pissed Lambert off, seeing everything so fucking nice. It should be filthy, it should be chaos and disaster.

“Sorry there’s only one bed,” Aiden said as he plopped down on the edge of the mattress.

Ah, there it was. Lambert stood with fists clenched, waiting.

“There’s a rug by the fire, if you want to put your bedroll there. Or wherever you want. Just move my stuff if you need to. I’m beat.” Aiden wrestled off his boots and flopped back onto the bed. “If you snore too loud I reserve the right to kick you.”

Lambert kept glaring, but Aiden simply pulled the blanket up over himself and waved a hand to snuff out the candle on the mantle, leaving the room lit by the glow of the hearth. 

Lambert stared into the semi-darkness and could easily make out Aiden’s still form laid out on the bed. Just lying there, like he was content to wait forever for Lambert to come give him what he was owed. 

Lambert clenched his teeth. “That’s it?” He snapped, louder than he meant to.

Aiden turned over, then sat up abruptly, his eyes shining in the dark. “What’s it?”

Lambert’s breath came faster as his temper boiled, pouring out of him like an overflowing kettle. “You gonna fuck me or not?” he demanded.

Aiden looked at him, unblinking, for so long that Lambert’s anger faded to a low simmer. 

“No,” Aiden said at last. “I’m not. I want half the fee, and nothing more.” Aiden threw himself down onto the bed, turned his back to the room, then curled up tightly.

Lambert laid out his bedroll in front of the heart and stayed awake for a long time, but Aiden didn’t make a peep all night.  
\--

Their last two joint contracts had been spur of the moment, but facing a large group of nekkers would take some coordination.

“What are you good at?” Aiden asked as they rode back to Murivel.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Lambert asked, glancing sidelong at his new traveling companion.

“We all play to our strengths,” Aiden said. “What would you normally do to fight a nest of nekkers?”

“Make a shit ton of bombs. Igni the fuck out of ‘em. Try not to get surrounded.” Lambert shrugged. That seemed like the only logical approach, to him. But Aiden looked thoughtful. “What about you?” Lambert asked.

“My signs are weak, but I’m fast,” Aiden said, as if it weren’t dangerous to tell your enemies about your weaknesses. “Fast enough to run away if I get outnumbered. I’d try to take out a few long range with the crossbow, then fall back. Lead them into some traps, get in some swordwork where I could. Harder to get swarmed if I keep moving.”

“Huh.” Different from Lambert’s methods, but he could see that working. A Cat’s hit-and-run style would probably be better suited to this situation than, say, fighting a kraken. “We could combine the two. Rig some bombs along with your traps, maybe.”

“Use your Igni to herd them into crossbow range.”

“Keep ‘em distracted with a nice juicy target, so they’ll run the way we want them to.”

Aiden grinned. “I like the way you think, Wolf.”

“Do not call me that,” Lambert growled. “I have a name.”

“You call me Cat,” Aiden pointed out. “Never once have you called me by my name. I’m not even sure you know it.”

Huh, had Lambert really not said it? He thought it all the time. “I know it, _Aiden_.”

“Well done, Lambert.” Aiden’s eyes were especially green in the sunlight, bright and sparkling with laughter. The sound of his laugh was round and resonant, as unselfconscious as a child, amused but somehow not at Lambert’s expense. Laughter suited Aiden.

By the time they arrived in Murivel, they had a plan that dampened even Lambert’s usual pessimism.  
\--

In the end, defeating the nekkers was almost too easy. Fighting alongside Aiden was like fighting alongside one of Lambert’s brothers. Aiden executed his part of the plan exactly as they’d discussed: he was where he said he’d be, and he made the shots he needed to. When it came down to the last dozen or so nekkers, Aiden moved like a dancer, swinging his silver sword like a ribbon to keep the enemy off Lambert’s back as he alternated bombs and Igni. 

At last, the nest was all that was left standing. Lambert handed Aiden one of his bombs. 

“You can do the honors.”

Aiden’s face lit up with giddy delight such that Lambert didn’t mind not getting to strike the final blow. Watching the explosion and hearing Aiden’s unrestrained whoops was plenty satisfying.

They gathered enough useful parts to fill two saddlebags, and collected plenty of trophies before heading back to town. The plan hadn’t worked out too badly, Lambert had to admit. Having someone reliable to fight beside was kind of nice. And thus far, at least, Aiden didn’t seem to be a total asshole, Cat or not. 

They were leading their trophy-laden horses back into the village when a boy in a page’s uniform ran up to them. Lambert’s stomach clenched when he saw the duke’s colors. 

“His Grace, the duke, requests to speak with you, master witcher,” the boy said to Lambert.

“We have business with the village headman first.” Lambert was pleased with how steady his voice sounded. Maybe they could get paid and high-tail it out of Murivel before the duke sent someone with more authority to collect Lambert. He felt fairly certain Aiden wouldn’t ask questions.

But of course, luck was not with them. “Headman’s with the duke.” The page gestured towards a branching in the road. “Come this way, sir.”

Aiden shot Lambert an inquisitive glance, but Lambert shook his head. There was no avoiding this if they wanted to get paid. Lambert had known the risk he was taking when he travelled here, so he couldn’t be too surprised. That was just his fucking luck: Aiden hadn’t wanted Lambert, so the universe would find another way to make sure this job didn’t go smoothly.

They were led to a small cluster of tents that hadn’t been there this morning, on a hill overlooking the village, and were bidden to wait outside the largest of the pavilions as a groom led away their horses, grimacing at their grisly decoration. 

Lambert stood with his hands clenched at his sides, making himself breathe through his nose. They’d get the money, he’d finish things with the duke, and be out of here by sunset, which wasn’t that far off. Lambert could do anything for a few hours. 

“So, you know this duke?” Aiden asked. He had his arms crossed over his chest and was regarding Lambert with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah.” Lambert didn’t see any need to elaborate. It wasn’t like Aiden didn’t understand the unpleasant necessities of being a witcher.

“This gonna be a problem?” 

“You’ll still get paid,” Lambert said. Lambert just might have to do a little more to earn it, first. “Don’t worry.”

“His Grace will see you now,” the page announced, and held up a tent flap to allow them entry.

“Ah, witcher.” The duke sat in a wooden chair, with the village headman standing beside him and guards stationed at intervals along the tent walls. Lambert’s eyes flicked to the cot in the corner, which was covered in furs. “Or witchers, I should say. Headman Nowak tells me you’re dealing with a little monster problem in the forest.”

“Dealt with,” Lambert said brusquely.

“I wouldn’t call the problem little, myself,” Aiden offered. Lambert shot him a glare, and Aiden looked back at him placidly.

“Well, simple enough for a professional.” The duke ignored Aiden and offered Lambert a smile that was at least half leer. “I’m sure you’re very good at what you do.”

“Listen,” Lambert said, keeping his voice even and not panicked. “We actually have to get going, so if you hand over what we’re owed, we’ll let you get on with your day.”

“Leaving so soon?” The duke rose to his feet and swept towards them. He cut an elegant figure in his dark, fur-trimmed robes. He had several inches of height on Lambert, though his bulk was the result of an indolent lifestyle rather than training. “But you so enjoyed your stay with us last time, didn’t you, witcher?”

Aiden’s eyes narrowed, and he looked sharply at Lambert. 

Lambert just gritted his teeth and said, “Right. Barrel of laughs. But like I said, we have to--”

“Nowak.” The duke turned to address the village headman, who was wringing his hands and shrinking away from the witchers. “Add another hundred crowns to the fee for the witcher’s _valuable_ time. That ought to be more than sufficient. Then you may leave us.”

The headman counted out more coins into a purse, which he left on the table as he scurried out along with the page, leaving only the duke’s guards, who stared past them as if they didn’t see them at all. They wouldn’t interfere, so Lambert could simply ignore them. There had been guards last time, in the duke’s audience chamber. At least the duke hadn’t invited them to join in.

Lambert felt light-headed and a bit nauseated, a feeling he recognized from previous experiences like this. This was the hardest part, just letting it happen. Enduring it would be easy, and then it would be over. He just had to make himself start without killing the duke and his guards and thus signing his own death warrant. Just let it happen. He wished he had some White Gull, or some slick. He’d mixed up a fresh batch of oil before arriving in Redania for just such an occasion, but it was still in his saddlebags. Stupid mistake. 

“Aiden, you can go,” Lambert said quietly. “Wait for me back in town.”

“No, thank you.” Aiden wasn’t looking at Lambert, but at the duke. 

“Aiden--”

“Come, stop playing at reluctance. You weren’t so coy last time.” The duke pointed to the rug at his feet. “Get over here and get on your knees.”

Aiden growled and bared his teeth, looking like the very picture of a feral, evil witcher. “What did you say to him?”

The guards shifted, putting their hands to their weapons. Lambert looked between Aiden and the duke, blinking. 

“Come, don’t act so surprised,” the duke said genially. “You must know that your friend there is extremely accommodating. Happy to throw in a little extra service if there’s coin in it, aren’t you, witcher?” the duke asked, sneering at Lambert.

Aiden stepped forward, and the duke made a strangled noise. Aiden had a dagger pressed up under the duke’s chin, and another one pushing against the duke’s robes between his legs. Lambert hadn’t even seen where the daggers had come from: that was how fast Aiden had moved. 

The guards rushed forward, only to halt at Aiden’s snapped, “Back! Or your lord dies.”

The guards looked to the duke, who gave the tiniest nod that nevertheless pierced his flesh on Aiden’s dagger. A single red dropped rolled down his neck as the guards backed away. 

“I apologize. We weren’t properly introduced. My name’s Aiden, of the School of the Cat. Pleasure to meet you.” Aiden offered a terrifyingly feral grin. “Do you know much about the witcher schools?”

“No,” grunted the duke. His eyes darted to Lambert, then back to the threat in front of him.

“Cat witchers are known for the volatility of our emotions. Side effect of the mutations, sadly. Makes us likely to just snap at any given moment.” Aiden leaned forward and, for emphasis, clicked his teeth together not an inch in front of the duke’s nose, drawing an undignified whimper from the cowering man.

Lambert stared. There were fewer than a dozen guards in the tent, but there were more outside, certainly more than two witchers could fight. Why in the hell was Aiden threatening a man who could easily order them killed? Unless he really was so volatile he hadn’t thought through the consequences. Perhaps Aiden wanted to fuck Lambert himself, and was simply being territorial. That was one reasonable explanation for his behavior. Or perhaps Aiden simply didn’t appreciate the damage Lambert was doing to the general witcher reputation.

The entire unreal scene seemed to be moving at half speed: the duke swallowing loudly accompanied by the movement of his throat against Aiden’s blade and the guards looking at one another, their hands shifting on their weapons so slowly they seemed to be moving through deep water. Lambert observed it all with a detached kind of fascination, noticing Aiden’s stance, his weight on the balls of his feet, his grip on the daggers firm but relaxed, and a sweat-damp curl of hair stuck against his temple. Lambert’s light-headedness had developed into dizziness, the room tilting around Lambert as he fixed his eyes on Aiden.

“I am a duke, a servant of his majesty,” the duke rasped. “You cannot--”

“Oh, you’ll find I can.” Aiden’s smile was hideous. “Lambert and I just killed several dozen nekkers. Do you think your guards pose any obstacle to me? They do not.”

“You’ll be hunted down--” The duke tried to lean back, but Aiden pushed forward to match him. “I’ll see a price put on your head--”

“Reasoning with an enraged witcher is not very effective. I don’t much care about the consequences right now. I’m not in the mood.” Aiden pressed the lower dagger forward until the duke yelped. “Now, if you would like to keep your manhood, apologize to my friend.”

Lambert looked sharply at Aiden. He wasn’t certain what surprised him more, the request itself, or the phrasing. But Aiden’s attention was fixed fully on his target.

The duke glanced at Lambert again. “I won’t lower myself--”

He cut off as Aiden eased the point of the dagger forward, tipping the duke’s chin up until he could withdraw no further, then drawing the blade down gently, with amazing control, splitting a narrow line of skin across the man’s throat, a thin thread of red blooming over his pale skin.

“Now,” Aiden said in a sing-song voice.

“I apologize for any offence,” the duke gasped.

Aiden clicked his tongue. “What do you think, Lambert? Should I castrate him anyway? Just to be sure he’ll behave from now on?”

Lambert wanted to say yes. The rage in Aiden’s sparkling eyes was seductive. But. There were dozens of soldiers outside, and he was tired. His body ached, more now than it had after they’d finished fighting. And his brothers wouldn’t appreciate a new tale of witchers slaughtering masses of humans.

“Listen, Your Grace. Obviously you’ve pissed off my friend here,” Lambert said. Aiden had used the f-word first, so Lambert was just being consistent. And rolling with what Aiden wanted seemed the most likely way to get out of here without further bloodshed. In fact, seeing the duke so terrified of Aiden, no matter Aiden’s motivations, was actually quite enjoyable. “That was bad planning. But you won’t do that again, will you?”

“No.” The duke’s voice trembled.

“No! Good,” Lambert said cheerfully. “So you’re gonna hand over our money, your guards will stand down, and Aiden won’t slice your balls off. Everybody’s happy.”

“Fine.” The duke tried to nod, but was stopped by the point of Aiden’s dagger still pressed to his throat. “Yes,” he croaked.

Aiden leaned in close, pressing his cheek against the duke’s and whispered, loud enough for only the duke and Lambert to hear, “Just know that if you try to stop us leaving, or send anyone after us, I will find you and hurt you. Your manhood would just be the first of many things I will take from you. There’s nowhere I can’t get to you. Understand?”

“Yes,” the duke breathed, his eyes squeezed shut in terror.  
\--

They rode out of Murivel with their purses full. Though Lambert kept an eye and ear out for pursuit, no one came after them. Lambert was almost sorry. He felt like he could take on the whole Redanian army at the moment, with a strange lightness in his chest that felt a bit like being drunk. 

After they’d ridden half a league or so, Lambert glanced over to see why no pithy commentary on their happy escape was forthcoming.

Aiden had his eyes fixed on the road straight ahead. His hand shook on the reins, and his breath came in short, shallow bursts, as it had been since they left the pavilion. His face was ashen grey and void of expression. He didn’t seem to notice Lambert’s scrutiny.

Lambert took one last look behind them, then decided it was worth the risk to stop. “Aiden. Hey, Cat.”

Aiden startled as if he’d forgotten Lambert was there, and turned to look at him.

“Let’s stop. The horses need water,” Lambert said. Which was true, but also not really his primary concern at the moment.

Aiden nodded vaguely, squinting back the way they’d come as if looking for something. But he followed when Lambert dismounted and led his horse through the trees to the bank of a stream. Aiden knelt next to the water and splashed his face, then stayed there staring into the flow of the stream. He wrapped one hand around his medallion, and seemed to be doing some sort of breathing exercise. 

Lambert had seen Aiden post-combat several times now, and he hadn’t been like this. But Lambert thought he might recognize the feeling: once, in Verden, he’d nearly murdered an unarmed peasant with his bare hands. Stumbling out of the village afterwards, he’d felt all the weight of what he’d nearly done, the monstrousness he’d suspected but hadn’t known had been inside him. Today’s encounter could have easily ended with the duke and all his men dead, or the two witchers dead, or both.

“That true, what you said about Cats?” Lambert asked. 

Aiden tightened his grip on his medallion. “Yeah. Doesn’t happen to me often.”

“How often is not often?”

“Every few years.”

Lambert stared as he thought back over Aiden’s interaction with the duke, searching for what had set him off. And the thing---the only thing--that could have sparked Aiden’s outburst was the duke’s treatment of Lambert himself. Aiden had become enraged, and had put his life on the line, on Lambert’s behalf. 

“You didn’t have to defend me,” Lambert blurted out.

“You weren’t doing it yourself.” Aiden slowly turned his head to look at Lambert. “If he acts like that towards a witcher, imagine how he treats the rest of his people.”

“All nobles are assholes. He’s not special.” Lambert folded his horse’s reins over and over, to have something to do with his hands. There _were_ plenty of assholes like the duke, and there was no one who’d ever thought of standing up on Lambert’s behalf against one of them. But this probably wasn’t about Lambert at all, in the end. That was just Lambert being caught up in his own shit. Aiden wasn’t wrong to be concerned about the rest of the duke’s people, and he was the kind of person who’d be mad about that. Soft, like fucking Geralt. But maybe that kind of concern paid off sometimes. Maybe this experience would humble the duke a bit. Lambert could dream, anyway. Lambert tied his horse to a branch and went to kneel beside Aiden. “You all right?”

“Fine.” Aiden’s hands were still shaking where they rested on his thighs. He looked pale and ghostly in the early evening light.

“You look like shit,” Lambert said, frowning. Aiden hadn’t even particularly needed to exert himself to terrify the duke, and it wasn’t like the guy hadn’t been asking for it, so Lambert wasn’t really seeing why Aiden would be upset.

Aiden looked at him sharply, brow furrowed, mouth pressed into a straight line. “Were you gonna let him….”

“Yeah, I was,” Lambert said to Aiden’s incredulous stare. “So what? Sometimes it’s easier just to give them what they want. Fight back, and you’ll end up worse off in the end.”

“You don’t deserve that.” Aiden was glaring at the water again. He looked halfway to being as furious as he had been in the duke’s tent. “You shouldn’t--”

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do!” Lambert snapped. “ _Deserve_ , like that has anything to do with it. Fuck you.” Somehow the words lacked their usual heat. 

Aiden hunched over the water, but his breath was coming slower now, stretching with each iteration until he’d reached a rate that was normal, for a witcher.

Lambert pushed to his feet and reached a hand down to Aiden, who stared at it, then took it and allowed Lambert to haul him to his feet.

They stood watching the horses drink until Lambert asked, “Where you headed next?” 

“I heard about a pack of werewolves in Hengfors. Could be interesting.” Aiden darted a look at Lambert. “Wouldn’t mind some help.”

“Well.” Lambert shrugged. He didn’t have plans. Now that he’d seen Aiden fight properly, he thought they might make a good team for a while. Until Aiden inevitably did something awful, like everyone did eventually. But for now, some company didn’t sound terrible. “I was riding north anyway.”

They filled their waterskins, mounted up, and were on the road again in good time, leaving Murivel far behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your support so far, y'all! Also feel free to come squee with me [ on Tumblr.](https://brighteyedjill.tumblr.com/)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continued thanks to hobbitdragon for beta-ing, and the multi-witcher discord server for enabling.

“Master witcher!”

Lambert looked up from his contemplation of the open tables in the tavern to see the landlady beckoning him over. He should know her name; he’d spent the night here often enough, as it was the last bastion of civilization on the road to Kaer Morhen. Lena? No, that had been the one before this. _Hanna_ , that was it.

“Yeah?” Lambert said cautiously. He racked his brain for what she might want: if he’d failed to pay his tab on the last trip through, if he might smell particularly offensive, if she might have a job to offer, or if Eskel might somehow be causing a scene in the stables instead of settling the horses.

“This was left for you,” Hanna said. She held out a slightly wrinkled paper, folded neatly and sealed with green wax which was too softened and abused to show any seal that may once have been pressed into it.

Lambert took the letter gingerly, as if it might bite him. He turned it over and saw _Lambert, the Wolf Witcher_ scrawled onto the front in slightly smudged ink.He’d never received a letter before. His fellow Wolves were the only ones who might have sent one, but there had never been a need.

“How’d it come here?” Lambert asked, staring at it.

“Oh, merchant passing through left it,” Hanna said. “He had it from a courier in Ard Carreigh.”

“Huh.” Lambert didn’t know anyone in Arg Carreigh, or anyone with the coin to spend on a courier.

“Don’t tell me you’re not Lambert.” Hanna shook a finger at him.”I can tell you Wolves apart after all these years, I’ll have you know!”

“Yeah.” Lambert dragged his attention away from the paper and looked up. “Thanks, Hanna.” He dug a coin out of his purse and handed it to her, as he’d seen others do when receiving messages.

She gave him a pleased smile and said, “Will the two of you be wanting a room for the night? We have plenty, this time of year.”

“Yeah. Separate beds if you’ve got ‘em,” Lambert said absently. “But ale first?”

“Certainly. You just wait two shakes.”

Lambert plopped down at the nearest table and sat staring at the letter while he waited for Eskel to get back from the stable. They’d left Kaer Morhen together so neither of them would be stuck doing whatever end-of-winter chores Vesemir devised for stragglers, and had planned on stopping here for a last taste of warm beds and hot food before going their separate ways.

By the time Hanna brought two tankards of ale, Eskel was stomping the snow off his boots in the doorway. He sat next to Lambert, narrowed his eyes at the folded paper, and asked, “Who’s sending you messages?”

“Don’t know.” Lambert fidgeted with the paper another moment, then ripped the seal open and unfolded it. Waiting wouldn’t tell him who sent it. Inside was a brief note in a spidery script of the kind no one used anymore:

Lambert,

Want to help me take out a family of griffins? Good money in it. Meet me in Ban Gleán at the new moon.

\- Aiden

Lambert felt a buzz of excitement speeding his heart as he re-read the letter. He hadn’t yet decided where he was headed, and Ban Gleán could easily be reached by the new moon.

“Who’s Aiden?” Eskel asked, shamelessly reading over Lambert’s shoulder.

“He’s just…” Lambert folded the letter back up and jammed it inside his jacket. “A witcher I did a few jobs with last year.”

“Lambert!” Eskel laughed. “I didn’t know you had friends.”

“He's not my friend,” Lambert snapped. He just knew the guy. Had travelled with him for a while… a few weeks, maybe two months. Three at the most. They made a good team. That didn’t mean they were _friends._

“Uh huh. What school?” Eskel asked. When Lambert gulped at his ale instead of answering, Eskel asked more sharply, “Lambert, what school is he from?”

Lambert decided not to care what Eskel thought. He leaned back in his chair and said, oh so casually, “He’s a Cat.”

“Really, Lambert? A fucking Cat?” Eskel’s glare was furious. Being several years older than Lambert, he’d actually known some of the witchers who’d died when the Cats had turned on the Wolves. But, as Aiden observed, that’d been more than half a century ago, and no business of Lambert’s.

“I can take care of myself,” Lambert growled. “I’m not an idiot.”

“You’re not gonna go meet him.”

Lambert just sipped his ale.

“Lambert?” Eskel said sharply.

“A contract’s a contract. I’ve worked with him before. It was fine,” Lambert said. More than fine. Kind of fun, even, once they’d gotten used to each other. “Besides, he says it’s good money.”

“He _says_ ,” Eskel snorted. “How do you know it’s not some kind of trap? Or he’s not just trying to waste your time?”

It was a fair point. Everyone knew Cats were untrustworthy. Lambert couldn’t say, exactly, why his gut was telling him he should go. “Aiden’s done right by me on other jobs.”

“Aiden. The Cat witcher.” Eskel leaned forward with his elbows on the table and asked, “Are you fucking him? Is that it?”

“Fuck no!” It wasn’t that Lambert had never thought about it. After Aiden had turned down Lambert’s offer of barter in exchange for his help in Murivel, Lambert had caught himself appreciating Aiden’s sharp profile, the graceful way he moved, the sandalwood smell of his hair. But they weren’t fucking. And even if they were, that wouldn’t have been a reason to go see about this contract. People who fucked Lambert and people he voluntarily spent time around didn’t have a lot of overlap.

“Bullshit.” Eskel leaned back in his chair. “You can’t keep it in your pants with anyone you’re around for more than a day.”

“Ha ha.” Lambert kept a smile on by force of habit, even if all amusement had fled. “Haven’t bagged you yet.”

“Unfortunately, you’re not my type.”

“What, I don’t have horns and cloven feet?”

“First, fuck you,” Eskel said, brandishing his ale. “Second, don’t change the subject. You’re not seriously going to meet this guy?”

“Yeah, I am.” Lambert crossed his arms over his chest and raised his chin, daring Eskel to keep arguing.

“Because I told you not to?” Eskel groaned.

“I don’t need your permission.”

“Fine.” Eskel heaved a deep sigh. “Then I’m going with you.”

Lambert narrowed his eyes at Eskel. “Why?”

“If I’m right, and it’s a trap, you’ll need someone to save your ass. If you’re right, and it’s not, then I want to meet this friend of yours and see if he’s good enough for my baby brother.”

Lambert huffed out a frustrated breath. He understood why Eskel would be suspicious of a Cat, but he didn’t appreciate the joking about Eskel, or anyone for that matter, actually caring if Lambert was making good choices in his companions. No one had ever cared before. “For fuck’s sake, Eskel--”

“I’m going, and you can’t stop me,” Eskel said with his lopsided grin, and signaled Hanna for another round.  
\--

The last snows of the season turned to rain as they travelled south. By the time they reached the Liksela River, it was raining more often than not, and every piece of clothing Lambert owned was soaked through.

“Scenic Ban Gleán, so beautiful in the spring,” Lambert grumbled.

“Can turn around any time,” Eskel said.

“We’ve come this far. I want to kill some griffins and get paid.” And it’d be nice to see how Aiden was doing. Just out of professional curiosity.

They arrived in Ban Gleán two days before the new moon. When they stopped by the inn, however, there were no rooms available.

“No one’s stirring anywhere in this weather,” the innkeeper told them. “But if you’re looking for that other witcher, he’s out by the countess’s old estate, near where those monsters have moved in.”

Lambert and Eskel thanked the man (well, Eskel did), and followed his directions east out of town with their hoods pulled up against the rain and the horses’ hooves squelching in the mud. Scent and sound were hard to catch through the downpour, but Lambert kept alert for any sight of the estate they were looking for. He still didn’t think this was any kind of trap, but he also didn’t want to hear Eskel’s smug “I told you so” if they did get ambushed.

A mile or so outside of the village, Lambert saw a dark shape approaching on the road ahead. As it drew closer through the rain, it resolved into the figure of a man riding a horse: a man with two sword hilts visible over his shoulder.

“Aiden?” Lambert called, and urged his horse forward.

The rider pushed his hood back to reveal Aiden’s smiling face. Aiden raised his hand in a wave. But then the warm welcome on Aiden's face turned to dismay. He reached for the crossbow behind his saddle and tugged on the reins to back his horse.

Lambert followed Aiden’s gaze to see the hulking figure of Eskel materialize out of the downpour. It belatedly occurred to him then that if Aiden had arrived to meet Lambert with another witcher, Lambert would have bugged the fuck out immediately. When two witchers faced one another in combat, no one was likely to escape the experience without grievous injury, so avoiding a fight was desirable to both. Two witchers against one, however, would have a good chance of subduing their opponent without significant risk to themselves.

“Shit,” Lambert huffed. “Eskel, stay here.”

“Like hell.”

“Stay here,” Lambert snapped, then looked Eskel in the eye. “Please.”

Eskel’s eyes widened, but he nodded shortly.

Lambert nudged his horse into a trot to close the distance between him and Aiden, whose crossbow was in his hand, but still pointed at the ground.

“Hey. Nice day, isn’t it?” Lambert said.

“Lambert,” Aiden said, voice taut and low. “Who’s that?”

“My brother, Eskel. Insisted on meeting my friend.”

Aiden gave him a sharp look. “He knows I’m a Cat?”

“Yeah.” He dug Aiden’s crumpled note out from under his jacket and held it up, where it immediately began wilting in the rain. “We came here to help you kill some griffins.”

“Not to kill me?” Aiden asked, raising an eyebrow.

Lambert gave a nonchalant shrug. “Not right now, anyway.”

Aiden barked out a laugh. “All right.” He removed the quarrel from his crossbow and secured it back behind his saddle. “Then, welcome to town.”

“You going somewhere?” Lambert looked back down the road the way they’d come, but saw only misty rain. He waved to Eskel to join them.

“Just headed to town to leave a message so you’d know where to find me. Clearly an unnecessary precaution.”

“Well, Wolves are good at tracking.” Lambert said. When Eskel walked Scorpion up beside them, he said, “Aiden, this is Eskel, also of the Wolf school. Eskel, this is Aiden.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Aiden reached across the distance between them to shake Eskel’s hand. “Any friend of Lambert’s is a friend of mine.”

“Likewise,” Eskel said, slowly, slanting a look at Lambert.

“Is there someplace to get out of the rain?” Lambert asked.

Aiden led them through the abandoned estate, its building silent and foreboding shapes looming in the downpour, to a stone barn that backed up to the woods. When they led in the horses, Lambert found the inside warmer and cozier than some inns he’d stayed at, though perhaps that was because any place dry seemed like heaven at the moment.

Aiden had already prepared one extra stall, and made short work of readying a second while the two Wolves untacked the horses. Aiden’s horse Kicia nosed instantly at Lambert’s hip until Lambert got out one of the wrinkled apples he’d been keeping in his pocket there and held it out for her where Eskel wouldn’t see. “Glad to see you, too,” Lambert whispered, and she snorted at him.

“I’m going to check my trap lines. Make yourselves at home.” Aiden waved a hand at the rest of the barn. “There are some dry clothes you’re welcome to borrow, though I’m not sure anything of mine will fit you, my mountainous friend,” he said to Eskel. “I’ll be back before dark, and then we can discuss our griffin problem.”

As Lambert took stock of the place, he noticed signs of a residence of longer duration: recent repairs made to the roof and walls, a basin set up in a corner next to a laundry line, an iron stove dragged in from somewhere with a chimney vented through a neat hole in the roof and a generous pile of wood nearby, a set of shelves with empty bottles and stacks of alchemical ingredients at various stages of preparation. In the hayloft, Lambert spied two pallets stuffed with straw, one with a bedroll and a few blankets, and one bare, apparently unused.

“So, are you convinced the Cat isn’t evil?” Lambert asked as he and Eskel peeled off their wet things and hung them up to dry.

“Not sure yet.” Eskel snapped his wet shirt at Lambert’s ass.

Lambert yelped in surprise, then turned a fierce scowl on Eskel.

“He seems to like you, though,” Eskel said.

Lambert ducked his face to hide a blush that he didn’t understand, because he had nothing to be embarrassed about. “Yeah, well, he better,” Lambert said. “I did save him from a kraken.”

“Wait, how have you not told this story yet?” Eskel asked, planting his hands on his hips. “You let Vesemir retell that old one about the giant basilisk once a week this winter, and you were sitting on this?”

Lambert couldn’t say why he hadn’t shared the story with his brothers. It felt nice to have something all his own, a memory he could conjure up during cold winter nights that no one knew about who hadn’t been there. But here in Aiden’s hideaway, dressed again in some of Aiden’s dry clothes, it seemed appropriate.

“Quit complaining, and I’ll tell it,” Lambert said.

When Aiden returned with a few scrawny rabbits, he prepared a stew while relating his own version of the kraken story as demanded by Eskel, which resulted in only a few friendly squabbles over their different interpretations of events.

Now that Aiden had stripped off his outer layer, Lambert couldn’t help but notice that he looked thinner than when Lambert had seen him last. His cheeks were gaunt under his full beard. His cloak was frayed and patched. His boots looked nearly worn through, and he moved his left leg stiffly, as if nursing an injury.

When they were all seated around the wood stove with bowls of rabbit stew, Lambert asked, “Have you been here long?”

“Since before Midinváerne,” Aiden said. “Not all of us have a warm, cushy castle to retreat to for the winter.”

“Explains why we couldn’t find any contracts within a week’s ride,” Eskel said.

“A witcher’s got to eat.” Aiden’s smile looked strained.

Lambert glanced once more around the stable, which didn’t seem to contain anything like a stockpile of food. So what? Lots of people worked through the winter. It wasn't as if Lambert had spent every winter at Kaer Morhen. Hell, his first winter he'd gone all the way there only to find a smoldering ruin, and left again immediately to work out his rage on monster after monster until springtime. But yeah, fine, having Kaer Morhen to go home to could be kind of nice. Lambert cleared his throat. “I like what you’ve done with the place,” Lambert said. “Real homey.”

“Thank you.” Aiden looked around the cozy barn with pardonable pride. “It suits well enough.”

“The Cats don’t get together, pool resources?” Eskel asked. “I thought you had a caravan.”

“Some of the Cats do get together.” Aiden shrugged. “I'm not-- I didn’t go this year.”

Eskel set aside his empty bowl and regarded Aiden narrowly. “You don’t seem as insane as other Cats I’ve met. What gives?”

“Eskel,” Lambert hissed. “Where are your fucking manners?”

“ _My_ manners! Since when do--”

“It’s all right, Lambert,” Aiden broke in. “I get it.” He turned to address Eskel. “There’s significant variation in the mutagens used for each group of trainees. The Cat formula isn’t as stable as some of the other schools’. It was altered for each trial.The mages were very hands-on with the trainees..”

Aiden's smell grew heavy with anger, and the knuckles of his hand holding the spoon turned white as he gripped it harder. Lambert could relate. Whenever he thought too much about his days at Kaer Morhen, he found his rage difficult to contain.

“They wanted to know what each new iteration of their formulas accomplished. To know what aspects of the formula to tweak. I represent a mixed success in their efforts,” Aiden said with a self-deprecating smile. “Which means I’m unlikely to lose my mind and attack you in your sleep. Ask Lambert.”

“He hasn’t attacked me in my sleep before,” Lambert said. “I make no guarantees about the future.”

“Thanks for that.” The smile Aiden turned on Lambert was genuinely amused, and Lambert felt an unexpected bloom of warmth in his belly.

“Now who needs to mind his manners?” Eskel asked.

“No, I find it comforting, personally,” Aiden said. “Just means they didn’t ensorcel you over the winter at Kaer Morhen. You’re still the same incorrigible ass you’ve always been. It’s nice to know some things don’t change.”  
\--

The plan for dealing with the griffins involved bait, so the next morning they all dragged themselves through the rain to visit a neighboring farmer of Aiden’s acquaintance. Eskel had stayed outside with the horses (“No need to descend upon the poor man with three witchers,” he’d said.), while Lambert and Aiden went inside to barter for some sheep. It wasn’t going well.

“Surely you can spare us something,” Aiden said. “It’s for the good of the village after all.”

“The griffins have been stealing enough of my animals.” The farmer had his arms crossed firmly over his chest, glaring at the two witchers as if they were robbers or tax collectors.

“And think, my good man, how many more they will yet steal if they’re not stopped,” Aiden said.

“Then what’s left have got to be kept for market.” The man had a stubborn set to his jaw that Lambert felt certain meant they’d be here all day.

“I understand your point,” Aiden said placatingly. “If we--”

Lambert wove his fingers into Axii and pushed power through the sign. “Give us two sheep.”

“All right.” The man’s eyes had gone vague, his expression blank. He pointed towards the pen behind the barn. “There’s what’s left of my flock. Take whichever you want.”

“Come on, Aiden.” Lambert turned to see Aiden staring at him with a furrowed brow and wide eyes. “What?” When Aiden said nothing, Lambert turned on his heel and stomped out of the shitty little hut. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Aiden dig several coins out of his already very light purse and press them into the farmer’s hand before hurrying after Lambert.

“We can take whichever two we want,” Lambert said to Eskel as he walked up to the horses. “We’re leaving.”

“Lambert.” Aiden stood behind Lambert, fists clenched at his sides. “Why did you do that?”

“What’d he do?” Eskel asked.

“Used Axii,” Lambert said. “Daylight’s wasting, farmer was being an ass.”

“It wasn’t necessary,” Aiden said tightly.

“Well, I say it was.” Lambert crossed his arms over his chest.

Aiden had never been a stickler for things like rules. And Lambert had never seen him angry like this. Usually Lambert found Aiden remarkably unflappable, despite Lambert’s repeated efforts to irritate him. The parallel that came to mind was how Aiden had acted facing that Redanian duke: coldly furious and implacable.

A little curl of shame twisted in Lambert’s belly as he noticed the similarities, but he squashed it down and snapped, “What do you want to do, give him his sheep back?”

“No use arguing with Lambert about Axii,” Eskel said. “It’s his favorite fucking sign.”

“Is it.” Aiden’s expression became blank and shuttered as he turned to Eskel. It was an expression that made Lambert want to reach for his sword.

“One winter, when he was still a trainee, he made me practice it on him, over and over, until he could break its hold in almost any situation,” Eskel said. “Didn’t practice any of the other signs that hard.”

“Oh.” Aiden’s expression turned thoughtful. “I see.”

“Go on, farmer Eskel,” Lambert said quickly. “Pick us out two sheep.”

Lambert fiddled with the girth on his saddle and felt Aiden’s gaze on him. He didn’t have anything to be sorry about. The farmer had been a dick, and Aiden had given him money for what they were taking, so what was the problem?

“Lambert,” Aiden said at last. “Axii--”

“Usually Eskel’s the one more uptight than Melitele’s asshole,” Lambert grumbled. “What’s your problem?”

“Do you use it often?”

“As often as I need to.” Lambert whirled around, glaring. Aiden had no business telling him how to do his job.

Aiden met his eyes, unafraid. “Don’t use it on me. Ever.”

“I don’t use it excessively.” Lambert found himself looking away. When he closed his eyes he could feel the vice-like hold of Axii on his mind, the panic of not being able to move. He shook off the memory. “Just when it’s necessary.”

“Even for a joke, or…” Aiden huffed out a breath. “Not ever. I mean it.”

“Fine,” Lambert said with a shrug. Wasn’t like he went around using it on just anyone. He wouldn’t have used it on Aiden. The thought of Aiden staring back at him with blank eyes, his will wiped away, sent a spike of nausea through Lambert’s belly.

“Thank you.” Aiden turned away just as Eskel returned.

Eskel held a bleating, kicking sheep under each arm. As soon as he was close enough, he shoved one at Lambert. “If you two are done making kissy faces at each other,” Eskel said, “We’ve got griffins to deal with.”  
\--

Fighting griffins in the rain wasn’t ideal, but there was no sign the weather would be better anytime soon, and patience wasn’t really Lambert’s _thing_ , anyway. Aiden led them to the disused watchtower at the edge of the old estate where the griffins had made their nest.

“Once they come for the bait, our best bet is to keep them grounded, agreed?” Aiden said as he passed around a vial of hybrid oil for their swords.

“You’re handy with a crossbow. You can knock ‘em down for us,” Lambert said. “Eskel, can you Aard the shit out of the others so we can deal with one at a time?”

“Sure,” Eskel said. “And you’ll be…?”

“Playing with bombs,” Lambert said.

Eskel staked out the two sheep a fair distance away from one another, the better to separate their targets. He took up a post by the dilapidated guard house next to the tower while Lambert and Aiden positioned themselves in sight of the both sheep and under the trees, where there was at least a little shelter from the rain.

Lambert leaned against a tree trunk, irritation rising as rainwater wicked its way into his clothes and dripped down his neck. Aiden’s words from before, and the promise he’d extracted, pricked at Lambert’s thoughts. Eventually, he asked, “Why are you so fucking weird about signs?”

Aiden looked at him and blinked. “Not all signs. I like Igni.”

“Fine. Why are you so fucking weird about Axii?”

Aiden looked away. “It’s personal.”

“Why the fuck would I try to hurt you, anyway? If I wanted to hurt you, why would I have saved your life?” Lambert demanded.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

Lambert shut his mouth. They stood in silence for a moment.

“I don’t trust magic,” Aiden said quietly. He was turned away so Lambert couldn’t see his expression, but could hear the tightness in his voice. “It can do terrible things. Hurt people.”

“Yeah, well, so can a sword,” said Lambert.

“No. At worst, a sword will only kill you.” Aiden took a step forward. “Here they come.”

Lambert squinted into the rainy mist and could make out three darker shapes against the clouds. Aiden flowed up the nearest tree with impressive grace to position himself with his crossbow, and Lambert pulled out his silver sword and a bomb.

The three beasts landed by the nearest sheep and began sniffing around, much to the displeasure of the loudly protesting sheep. Aiden nodded to Lambert, and Lambert lobbed his bomb in a neat arc right into their midst.

When the thing detonated, blasting dirt and metal in a wide arc, the griffins screeched, and they all tried to leap aloft. A neatly placed crossbow bolt from Aiden brought down the largest of the three.

Eskel charged in from the side, silver sword swinging, and rolled out of the way when Lambert dashed in with a bomb. Aiden knocked back the creature’s escape attempt with another well-timed shot, while Eskel’s Aard kept the other two griffins from defending their kin.

Lambert couldn’t help but admire the way the three of them worked like a single well-coordinated machine, finishing off the first griffin and bringing down the second. He was feeling so confident, in fact, that he forgot to be cautious. The final griffin turned to strike at Eskel, which was Lambert’s cue to throw a bomb. He stuck his hand into his belt pouch and found nothing. Out of bombs. The griffin rose on its hind legs to tackle Eskel, who was hemmed in by the corpses of the other two beasts.

A crossbow bolt took the griffin in the shoulder and it screeched in rage, turning away from its prey. Another hit its throat, but didn’t get past the thick layers of feathers. The griffin lifted off the ground and dove at the tree where the attack was coming from, the one where Aiden was perched.

“Fuck!” Lambert threw Igni, but the rain killed much of its force before it reached its target.

Eskel’s powerful Aard came hard on its heels, though, sending the griffin tumbling into the row of trees and knocking them flat. Lambert thought he might have seen the golden light of Quen as the griffin collapsed, but he couldn’t be sure. He found himself sprinting the distance to the fallen trees.

“Aiden!” Lambert shoved aside branches and griffin limbs, heedless of twigs and feathers scratching at him, until he found Aiden’s crumpled form embedded in the mud. “Aiden!”

Aiden opened his eyes, focused on Lambert, and smiled. “Hi.”

“Oh, thank fuck.” Lambert dragged Aiden up to sitting. Their faces were almost touching. Lambert could see a small, bright red scratch on Aiden’s left cheek, a smear of mud across his forehead, and the vibrant green of his eyes.

“Why were you worried?” Aiden’s smile was dazzling. “I knew you weren’t gonna let a little thing like a griffin kill me.”

“Good. That’s….” Lambert swallowed, pushing down the strange lump that was stuck in his throat. “Good.”

“Lambert!” Eskel peered over the mangled corpse of the griffin. “You two alive down there?”

“Yeah.” Lambert found that his hand was around the nape of Aiden’s neck, squeezing. “We’re fine.”  
\--

The countess’s reward for clearing the griffins off her ancestral estate proved to be substantial, as reported. Even splitting the contract three ways, Lambert was very pleased. As he counted his portion, he found himself thinking how it would cover the cost of a new cloak, and boots, and at least a month of provisions if supplemented with hunting or trapping. But Lambert was fine on equipment for now. He could spend it on gambling and whores, or make some upgrades to his armor. He didn’t need to save it for anything.

The three of them celebrated their newfound wealth with drinks and a warm meal at the crowded tavern. When Lambert declared he was buying, Eskel smirked at him, but Aiden didn’t argue.

“Eskel, where you headed next?” Aiden asked, after they’d demolished some very tasty roasted lamb.

“Lyria,” Eskel said. “There are always plenty of trolls there this time of year. Lambert, where are you going this year?”

“I was probably going to head west.” Lambert drained the rest of his ale, then looked over at Aiden, who wore the happy smile of a man who was warm and full of alcohol. That decided it. “Want to come along?”

Aiden’s smile brightened, and then collapsed. “I…It’s…” he began. “There’s something I have to do. I would, but--”

“No, that’s fine.” Lambert waved a hand, as if to wipe the whole suggestion away. It had been a stupid thing to ask. “Easier to find work for one, anyway.”

“Is there somewhere I could send a message later in the season?” Aiden’s expression was tense, now, his posture hunched as he leaned in towards Lambert. “So I could find--”

“No,” Lambert interrupted. He wasn’t going to wait around somewhere for a message that wouldn’t come. Fuck that. “Never can tell where I’m going to end up. So.”

“Ah.” Aiden wrapped both hands around his tankard of ale and sat staring at it.

Eskel glared at Lambert, but Lambert was not in the mood for a reprimand. He sat there, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed, glaring out in the room, and did not let Eskel’s expression affect him.

“Well,” Eskel said eventually. “Now that you bastards have some money, we can at least have some fun. So, Gwent?”

“Sure.” Aiden sat up, and had a smile on that was so bright Lambert thought for an incredulous moment that he’d been faking his disappointment earlier. When Aiden turned to get his deck out of his bag, Lambert noticed his shaking hands, and knew he hadn’t mistaken what he’d seen.

“Though I have to warn you,” Aiden said, “I’ve never played before, so you’ll have to tell me what to do.”

Eskel bellowed out a laugh as he gathered his own deck. “See, I told you you can’t trust Cats.”

“Yeah, yeah, you were right,” Lambert said, just to see Aiden’s eyes dart to him, questioning. Lambert gave him a small smile, and Aiden returned it. “Let’s play.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind the warnings in this chapter. For more details of the sexual violence in this chapter, see end note. Many thanks to hobbitdragon for beta-ing and the Bard in Kaer Morhen server for enabling.

Lambert stopped by the courier post in Rinde on his way through to check for messages, as he always did when he rode through a decent-sized town. He’d said he might be here around the time. Possibly. Just a passing mention. This time he found a letter addressed in Aiden’s spindly hand.

Want to ask your help with something. Meet me at the Crown and Cat in Houtborg. Do NOT go hunting until you see me.  
\- A  


“Not big on the details, are ya?” Lambert muttered. But of course he was going to go. Any contract with Aiden turned out to be interesting, profitable, fun, or all three. He didn’t mind riding a ways on the promise of Aiden’s company.

Despite Lambert’s previous refusal to give Aiden information about where he was going, Aiden had caught up to him not long after Beltane and thereafter had bothered him for information about his future whereabouts everytime they parted. At some point it just became easier for Lambert to give in and tell him. So these notes had become a fairly regular occurrence in Lambert’s life. If that meant he had a bit less freedom to hare off after spontaneous opportunities, well, Aiden did manage to find the two of them more than his fair share of work. 

Though Aiden had been acting squirrlier than usual in the past few months. He’d never fully regained the weight he’d lost during the winter, and that fatigued, slightly haunted look hadn’t gone away. Whenever they camped together or shared a room, Aiden woke up gasping at the slightest noise. Which, fine, Cats were jumpy. And if there was something wrong with him, it wasn’t Lambert’s business. All the same, Lambert had picked up some lavender-scented soap he’d seen at a market in Novigrad, because lavender was supposed to be soothing, and maybe he’d give it to Aiden when he saw him. Maybe.

Aiden was nowhere to be seen at the Crown and Cat, but Kicia was in the stables. She huffed and snorted at Lambert until he came over and delivered the apple that was her due. Lambert’s own horse--whose name was _not_ Myszka however much the dumb beast had started to answer when Aiden called him that--snorted in irritation when no apple was forthcoming for him. “Yeah, tough shit,” Lambert told him, and stowed his own gear with not-Myszka’s tack before going to find out what he could.

The innkeeper confirmed that Aiden had taken a room and paid in advance for the week. He must have done well in contracts recently, to shell out for that. She could not, however, tell Lambert where Aiden might be or why he’d left. 

“But he did talk to those poor wretches from Dolsk when he first came,” she said as she took Lambert’s coin in exchange for a couple of cold meat pies. 

Lambert followed the innkeeper's directions to the somewhat ramshackle temple at the edge of the village, near which some refugees had taken shelter. It was a haphazard camp with dogs and children underfoot, the adults wary and tired. 

When someone tugged on his sleeve, Lambert whirled around with a scowl, but relented a bit when he saw who was bothering him.

A little girl with a dirty face and hands on her hips glared at him savagely. “You with that other witch man?”

“Who’s asking?” Lambert asked, raising an eyebrow.

“He said he’d help us,” she said, raising her chin. “A monster chased us out of our village. And people disappeared from my gran’s village, too. That other witch man said he’d get rid of the monster.”

“Is that so?” Lambert’s eyes slid to a woman who’d come to stand by the girl.

“The monsters come in the night and take people away,” the woman said. “We find the ones they take later, out in the fields or the roads.”

“Dead?” Lambert asked quietly.

Her wide-eyed nod seemed to indicate worse than dead, but Lambert wouldn’t press for details in front of the kid.

“So you got out,” Lambert said.

“We had to leave, and many of the others with us.” The woman’s eyes drifted to Lambert’s medallion. “There was another witcher here who told us he’d look into the problem. That was two days ago.”

“Dark hair, scar like so, a silver amulet in the shape of a cat’s head?”

“Yeah, that’s the witch man,” the girl said. Her glare had not abated. “Is he your friend? Why hasn’t he saved the village yet? I wanna go home.”

“Yeah, he’s my friend,” Lambert said absently, then looked at the women. “You haven’t seen him in two days?” 

The woman shook her head.

Lambert did not like that. There was no telling how long ago Aiden had left that note in Rinde. It was possible he’d been back to the inn and these people just hadn’t noticed. But with his luck, Lambert didn’t fucking think so. 

“I’ll find him,” he said to the girl. “And we’ll fuck up your monster, don’t worry.”

The woman made a noise of protest at the rough language, but the girl grinned and nodded her satisfaction.

Though Aiden had told him to wait, Lambert had no intention of doing so. If Aiden had been gone two days, something was wrong, and Lambert wasn’t going to sit around on his ass waiting to find out what that was. He went on foot, following the villagers’ instructions towards the cluster of houses that they called a village. Aiden wasn’t an idiot; he knew how to mask his comings and goings, but Lambert was by far the better tracker of the two of them. If there was any trace of Aiden, he’d find it. 

Along the road, Lambert ran across one of the bodies that must have been a missing villager. The man had been gutted and left splayed out for the crows to feast on. Hard to say if the purpose had been to intimidate the villagers, perform some kind of ritual, or simply to feed. The body was too chewed up to tell much. Lambert blasted the body with Igni and kept moving.

The village itself was a smoldering ruin. Everything had burned down to the foundations except for one thatched roof cottage standing untouched in the center. Lambert stood in a scrawny stand of trees at the edge of the forest for a while, watching, but he saw no movement, not even a scavenger bird. Whatever had destroyed this place must have been something relatively intelligent. Vampire, maybe. Or even plan old bandits. 

As twilight fell, Lambert crept in closer. On the ground about ten paces from the cottage, a rune had been drawn in the dirt next to a long, curving line. It was the same not-Quen Lambert had seen Aiden use--and only Aiden. He had been here. And he’d been trying to keep something out of that hut. Or in it.

“Aiden,” Lambert whispered, loud enough for a witcher to hear. “Aiden?”

There was no response. 

Lambert clenched his teeth. If Aiden wasn’t in that cottage, there were two options. Either he planned to come back, having gone off to prepare for facing whatever monster had attacked the village. Or he was dead. Lambert didn’t appreciate how the idea of Aiden being dead had Lambert’s heart squeezing in his chest like he couldn’t get enough air. But Aiden probably wasn’t dead. He wasn’t supid. Maybe the bandits or the vampire or whatever-the-fuck had caught him snooping around. Or maybe he’d already dealt with whatever was inside, and Lambert had just missed him on the way back to Houtborg. There was no way to find out by standing here. Lambert would just have to check out the cottage, that was all.

He drew his steel sword. As he approached, nothing moved, and he heard no sounds from inside the cottage. Lambert pushed open the door and, taking one last look around the abandoned ruins of the building, stepped inside. He blinked in the candlelight that hadn’t been visible through the windows outside, but kept moving to clear the door and turn back to take stock of the space. The interior was much larger than the footprint of the building, and the furnishings were nothing that belonged in a peasant household: richly upholstered furniture, fur rugs, shelves lined with books, a beautiful dress of deep purple silk draped over a chair, a gold-framed mirror that hung above a vanity crowded with pots and jars.

Lambert didn't notice the mage until his medallion trembled and the spell took hold. He froze where he stood, holding his sword, facing into the open expanse of the room, his neck prickling with sudden awareness of danger. Lambert had heard Geralt explain how it had felt to be under a mage’s thrall, but he hadn’t experienced it himself. It wasn't like Axii, which for many years had felt like a thin thread, a mental lasso that Lambert could easily break. This felt like a stone hand closed around his mind. 

“Ooo,” a high, musical voice cooed. “A little witcher come to play with me. I love witchers. Used to make them myself.” The sorceress stepped in front of him to examine her prey. Like all sorceresses Lambert had ever met, she was beautiful: tall and graceful with silken yellow hair and too-symmetrical features. Her makeup was flawless, perfectly matched to the deep green of the low-cut gown she wore beneath a sable cloak. “Now, let me look at you.”

Everything around Lambert has taken on a dream-like quality, a hazy sheen that Lambert's suspected meant that he wouldn’t fully remember this later. But as much as he didn’t want to be held by this sorceress like a fly in her web, he also didn’t want to be absent while she did whatever it was she wanted with his body. There was a time where he might have thought that would be better, but he wasn't just going to run away and leave himself to her. He was going to fucking fight. Just as soon as he could figure out how.

She came right up to him, as if she had not the least concern of Lambert's breaking free, and he was no kind of threat. As Lambert struggled to absolutely no avail, he had to concede her confidence was likely well founded. Fuck, this was not good. The sorceress reached a hand out to hook around the chain of his medallion and draw it out from under his shirt. She raised an eyebrow when she saw the figure of a wolf.

“Oh, what a treat!” she cooed. “My colleagues at the Wolf School were always so stingy with the details of their formulae.” She brushed a hand across Lambert’s cheek, tracing his scar. “I've never seen one of you pups up close. Each school has their own little quirks, you know. I’ve been wanting a chance to see for myself.”

She pressed her thumb against Lambert’s lips and guided his mouth open to run a finger over his teeth. Lambert tried with all his will to bite down, but didn’t manage to so much as flex his jaw. When Geralt had told his fellow Wolves how it had felt when Yennefer had commanded him, Lambert had thought he couldn’t be caught that way. He wasn’t some bleeding heart, to fall in love with a sorceress. But apparently love, or even soft-heartedness, was not required. 

“Pity,” she said. “No fangs. Seems like a missed opportunity to really embrace the canine theme. But perhaps it would have been too cliche. What about your eyes? Can you dilate them at will, or is it a reflex? Show me.”

Lambert blinked, but was unable to provide much of a performance otherwise.

“Well,” she sighed. “So far I am not favorably impressed with their methods. Though I understand the limitations of working in a group. There were so many things we wanted to try with our Cats that the other sorcerers never approved of.” She stepped closer, close enough that Lambert could smell the honeysuckle perfume she wore. The sticky sweetness of it would have made Lambert gag, if he could have. 

She slid both her hands down Lambert's arms, squeezing at the muscle as if to test it. “Not as bulky as the Bears,” she said. “I had heard that the Wolves were built for a more agile fighting style, but you're quite a compact little fellow, aren’t you?” She pinched his cheek, and Lambert desperately wished for the ability to cast Igni without his hands.

“Any other canine traits lying in wait? Oh, there's one thing I have always wondered about!” The sorceress unhurriedly untied the laces on Lambert’s breeches and reached a hand inside. 

Lambert gritted his teeth, willing himself to scream, to pull away, but nothing happened. Lambert closed his eyes instead. He could do that much. 

She cinched her hand around the base of his soft cock, then chuckled. “Oh well,” she said. “I suppose one can't believe all the rumors.”

Lambert’s mind felt as frozen as his body, bracing for what would happen next, but she withdrew her hand and wiped it off on Lambert’s chest before stepping back. He could breathe again, lungs shuddering into motion. The sorceress looked him up and down, like a butcher assessing a piece of meat.

“The question is, what are you doing here, little Witcher?” she asked. “Could it be a coincidence that you're sniffing around my territory? I think not.”

Lambert swallowed hard. There was something he mustn't think of, something she must not know about why he’d come here. His mind skittered away from even naming it, lest the sorceress pluck it out of his mind. The best way to avoid that was to think of something else that would so thoroughly occupy his thoughts that there would be no room in his mind for anything else. Should be easy. He just needed to distract himself.

“Someone must have hired you,” the sorceress was saying. “But I bet they didn’t tell you what you were getting into, did they? No, if you had expected to run into me, I imagine you may have guarded yourself more cautiously. Though really, there’s nothing you could have done even if you’d had all the time in the world to prepare. Your magic is no match for mine. It’s like comparing pig swill to fine wine.”

Ignoring her, Lambert started trying to list the creatures in the old bestiary in the library at Kaer Morhen backwards in alphabetical order starting with zeugl. However, he knew the book too well. He’d been set by copying entries from it for punishment so often as a kid that he could probably recite the contents in his sleep. It was no challenge just listing beasts; the effort wasn’t enough to anchor him. Next he tried reciting the lyrics to that awful song that Geralt's bard wrote, the original verses and the bawdy ones they’d made up in the winters since. But even as he followed the tune in his head, other thoughts slipped in around the edges. He needed something stronger, something that would hold his full attention. It was obvious what it had to be.

After so long of trying to keep his mind away from that particular cesspool of memories, when Lambert stopped resisting it, it was easy to get drawn in. It was as if he'd turned around the pole of a magnet; his mind snapped together with the memories of his training that he’d long kept buried. He could feel the floorboards of the storage room under his knees. He could smell the dust of the practice yard as he hit the ground. He could hear the whisper of leather sliding against Torrin's palm, the bass rumble of his voice, the heavy thud of his steps as he closed in on Lambert. 

“You know, your will is particularly weak, little witcher.” The sorceress circled around him, and Lambert’s skin prickled at having her out of his sight. “Your mind has been violated before, which does make things a bit easier for me. A path that’s been blazed once is easier to follow a second time.”

 _You wanna see, come read this._ Lambert let himself sink into the pain and confusion and fear that he’d run from for so long, the roiling, pulsing force of the memories pulling him down until he could barely breathe. He could picture his younger self so clearly: just out of the Grasses, feeling strong and like he could never be hurt again, and then that facade crumbling around him as he learned just how wrong he was. The scent of his own blood, the feel of Torrin’s hand closing in his hair, the salt taste of tears as he choked, the wet, harsh sounds as he coughed and spat. Screaming and fighting against Torrin’s hold on him, helpless and defeated.

“So many angry little thoughts racing around your mind, wolf pup.” She was very close to him, her words a sibilant hiss in his ear. “It's fascinating, how they made you.”

Lambert couldn’t growl or snarl, but gods how he wanted to. _They didn’t make me. I made me._ He could feel his solid grip of the blade Torrin had given him, that he’d learned how to wield and had wielded fucking well in his years on the Path, but he couldn’t move so much as a finger.

“I think I may keep you a while. Would you like that?” The sorceress’s perfectly manicured nails trailed down Lambert’s neck. “It seems you have experience being an obedient boy. That’s convenient. There’s something nostalgic about the idea of having a witcher plaything again.”

The thought of this bitch holding some poor witcher trainee like this, hurting him as Lambert had been hurt, sent rage burning through Lambert’s veins. She’d said the Cat school. A Cat trainee-- No. Lambert wrenched his mind off of that path and back down into the muck of painful memories that could hold all of his attention. He couldn’t move. He could only stare past the sorceress towards the shadow moving in the cottage’s doorway.

“For a start, you can come along and help me maim a few of the villagers I meant to punish today. Maybe outrage some of their daughters. That way I won't need to get my own hands dirty.” She stepped in front of him again and clapped her hands together, as delighted as a girl. “And then, tonight, you can demonstrate what you learned from your previous master. It seems you were quite good with your mouth. We can start there.”

The memories crowded around Lambert, surrounding him, drowning him. He let the fury swell up in him, remembering all the worst things he’d endured, and the moment when he’d said no, when he’d been able to stand on his own. He concentrated on that power, that strength.

“Are you fighting me? Are you trying to fight me?” She giggled. “Oh, that's so precious. You barely had the strength to resist another witcher, with his weak little cantrips. You have no hope of fighting against real magic.”

Lambert did not let himself see anything else, hear anything else, smell anything else. He focused only on the stricture around his mind. He pushed, the way he did to fight against Axii , gathering his will tight to a single point to pierce the force that held him. 

The sorceress frowned. Her hand shot out and she grabbed Lambert by the jaw. “You can't fight me, little witcher,” she said. “What are you going to do?”

Lambert couldn't move, couldn't shake off her grip, but he flexed his will enough to speak, and said, “Wait and see.”

Aiden’s sword plunged all the way through her body, exiting through her chest. Lambert had to appreciate the precision in spearing through her heart despite how quickly Aiden had been approaching. The sorceress’s fingers twitched against Lambert’s face, then fell away. Her eyes widened with surprise, but the life drained from them quickly.

Aiden grabbed the sorceress by the hood of her cloak and braced a foot against her back to shove the body off his blade before dropping her on the floor. He never took his eyes off her, but brought his sword down again and again, chopping at the body and splattering himself with blood.

The hand clenched around Lambert's mind released him, and he stumbled backward, catching himself against the wall of the cottage. He gulped in breath as his body came back under his own control. His fingers answered to his command, flexing against the grip of his sword. Then he tested his voice. “Aiden.”

Aiden’s head snapped up from his continued attack on the sorceress’s body. His eyes were flat black, the veins in his face darkened with toxicity, and his skin was spattered with the mage's blood. He snarled, pulling back his lips to show all his teeth. “Get back.”

“She’s dead, Aiden.”

“Get away from me!” Aiden lifted his sword and snarled at Lambert. 

Lambert looked back at him wearily. ”You going to kill me now, after all this?” he asked.

Aiden blinked at him and backed up a step. He didn't lower his sword, but he looked down at the savaged corpse, seeming to realize for the first time that she was, in fact, no longer a threat. Aiden’s hands shook on the sword, and his breath came short and fast. It could have been the adrenaline of the potions, or the heat of battle, but Lambert rather thought it was something else, something more like one of those times when Aiden's mutations left him vulnerable to being controlled by his emotions. 

“Aiden,” Lambert said quietly.

“Leave me alone,” Aiden growled as he looked up at Lambert.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Lambert slid his sword back into its sheath and held up his hands. 

Aiden stared at Lambert for a long moment, then turned to lash out with his sword, this time smashing the shelves on the walls. Lambert put up an arm to shield him from the flying wreckage, but he made no objection. Rows of bottles, books and papers, everything in the room that wasn’t nailed down, Aiden razed. He dropped his sword to pick up a wooden chair and smashed it into a wall. He kicked over the table, ripped off a leg, and used it to shatter the mirror above the vanity, sending shards of glass flying. When there was nothing left to destroy, he dropped his sword and slid to his knees, head hanging. 

Lambert stepped closer, and kept his voice even. "Aiden?" .

"Is she dead?" Aiden asked.

Lambert looks over at the mage’s body, ground mostly to a sticky paste by Aidan's relentless attacks. "Yeah," Lambert said. "She sure is." 

Aiden's head snapped up and his hand shot out to grab Lambert's arm. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," said Lambert. He'd managed to drag his mind back out of the morass of memories that he'd allowed to nearly bury him, which meant everything was fine. He picked up Aiden’s sword, gave it a cursory wipe on a scrap of curtain, and handed it back to Aiden. "It's fine. She's dead."

Aiden scrubbed his arm across his face, which only succeeded in smearing the blood. “Did she… Did she do anything? To you, I mean. I’m...I wasn’t here. I told you not to go.”

“I know you did. It’s not your fault I’m a shit listener. Come on.” Lambert offered a hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

Aiden accepted the hand, and didn’t let go of it as Lambert led him out of the cottage and back into the darkness of evening. “You need anything from in there?” Lambert asked.

Aiden shook his head.

Lambert raised a hand to the open doorway and formed Igni--Aiden’s favorite sign, his mind supplied inanely--and pushed power through it recklessly. The scattered paper in the room caught quickly. Flames engulfed the too-large inside of the building for a long time before the exterior began to catch fire. Lambert watched until the thatched roof collapsed in a shower of sparks, burying what was left of the sorceress. Then he led an unresisting Aiden away.

They walked the two miles back to town in silence. Usually, Aiden never shut the fuck up, always observing this or that, sharing a story he’d been reminded of, or peppering Lambert with questions. But now he let Lambert steer him, following along mutely and startling at every noise. 

Before they arrived back in Houtborg, Lambert stopped and pulled the hood of Aiden’s cloak up to obscure the blood-spattered skin and flat black eyes. The bloodstains on Aiden’s clothes he could do nothing about, but in the dark of night, Lambert hoped no one would notice. The last thing they needed was the town watch hassling them. In this state, Lambert felt fairly certain any confrontation would end with corpses cooling in the road and Aiden’s sword dripping blood.

Luck seemed to be with them, for once, for they made it back to the Crown and Cat without incident. Lambert stopped briefly by the bar to order up food and a hot bath before tugging Aiden up the stairs. 

“Which one’s your room?” Lambert asked.

Aiden turned and stared at Lambert, his normally expressive eyes black and opaque. Lambert had seen Aiden take potions before, but he’d never seemed so… blank afterwards. Absent. Lambert didn’t like to see him so still. “Hey, Aiden? Your room?”

Aiden fumbled in his belt pouch and came up with a key, which Lambert snatched out of his hand. At the first room where Lambert could hear no one inside, he jammed the key into the lock, and thank fuck, it turned. He shoved Aiden through the door and into a chair while he got a fire lit. 

A boy began bringing up hot water as Lambert looked around. Aiden’s gear had been stowed neatly, as was his wont. At least he seemed to have a decent amount of equipment, which meant he hadn’t been hard enough up for coin to hock anything recently. On the table, there was a folded and sealed letter. On the front was written, “Lambert, the Wolf witcher.” Lambert stared at it as the boy finished filling up the tub and hurried away. 

“I’ve got to get my crap from the stables,” Lambert said, to Aiden’s blank stare. “Get in the bath, yeah?”

Aiden grunted.

When Lambert returned, there were two plates of food crowded onto the room’s tiny table next to the letter, and Aiden stood next to the tub, staring down at the water, naked. It wasn’t as if Lambert hadn’t seen him without clothes before--traveling with the man had certainly proved he wasn’t modest--but Lambert didn’t usually _look_ at him, not on purpose. Aiden had lost weight again in the past month, as skinny as Lambert had seen him since the griffin incident in the spring. He also had a new set of scars, two jagged parallel lines raked across his back that looked like nothing so much as knife wounds from a dual-wielder. The black was finally starting to fade from Aiden’s veins, and his hands were shaking where they gripped the edge of the tub. He hardly seemed to notice when Lambert shut the door.

“Aiden?” Lambert said. “Hey, Cat.”

Aiden turned his head and blinked at Lambert. His face was still streaked and spattered with blood.

“You wanna get in the bath?”

Aiden nodded and stepped into the water without bothering to test the temperature. 

Lambert dropped his things by the far wall and threw himself into a chair to start in on the food. It was warm, and there was a lot of it, which was more than Lambert could say for many an inn. 

Aiden sat in the tub, frowning at the surface of the water. 

Right, soap. Lambert got up to dig out the lavender soap he’d bought, wrapped in its waxed cloth, and brought it to Aiden. “Here. This is for you.”

Aiden accepted the soap from Lambert’s hands, then brought it to his face and inhaled. He made a small, pleased sound, plunged the soap into the water, and began washing himself. By the time Aiden had scrubbed the dried blood off his face and rinsed his hair, his eyes had reverted to their usual green-yellow.

When Lambert pushed the extra chair over to the tub and put the plate of food on it, Aiden looked at it, then grabbed a piece of bread and shoved it in his mouth. Lambert settled himself on the floor, leaning back against the warm tub.

“So,” Lambert said. “That was the monster that was terrorizing those villagers.”

“Yeah.” Aiden swallowed. “Sacrifices for blood magic.”

“Shit.” That made sense. Fucking mages. This one had certainly earned her death many times over.

“What the fuck were you doing there?” Aiden splashed a tiny wave over the side of the tub. 

“Hey, _you_ wrote to _me_.” Lambert turned to glare at Aiden and brushed the water off his shirt. 

“I told you to wait.” Aiden glared right back. “I needed an amulet to be able to sneak up on her. When I got back here with it, they told me you’d fucked off. If you could have just waited--”

“You hadn’t been back here for two days.” Lambert settled himself back against the tub and crossed his arms over his chest. “What if you’d gotten yourself killed or captured? I had to come.”

Aiden was silent for a long moment, and Lambert could hear his fingers trailing gently through the water. “Concerned for my well-being?”

“Just want to make sure I get paid,” Lambert retorted automatically. But that was a fucking lie, and he knew it. He should move on before Aiden called him on it. “You were acquainted, I gather?”

“Yes,” Aiden said very quietly.

Lambert felt a brief stab of jealousy, remembering Aiden swinging his sword over and over, pouring all his rage into someone who’d hurt him. But as he thought back over what the sorceress had said, he frowned. “Are there others? Cat school mages. Like her.”

“Not anymore.” Aiden stood and grabbed a bath sheet to drape over his shoulders as he climbed out of the bath.

“Shit. Good for you.” And really, Lambert was happy for him. That kind of revenge had never been an option for Lambert. He’d known that, once he’d had time to think about it in the years after Kaer Morhen fell. Even if Lambert had had the chance, the other witchers would not have stood by and watched him kill Torrin. For that matter, he might not have been capable of killing him. He'd only had a year on the Path then, and Torrin had been a witcher for almost a century. Even though Lambert had no longer been a trainee and couldn't be held by Axii, Torrin might still have been able to beat Lambert in a fight. 

And the other witchers would have been more likely to believe that Lambert had gone mad than to believe that he had appropriate justification for killing his mentor, a storied and respected instructor. Madness happened sometimes in a witcher's first few years on the Path; instabilities from their mutations that hadn’t manifested during their training took hold, and they had to be put down. Lambert's would have been one of those sad cases the instructors would have shaken their heads over. Had Aiden gone to the other Cats for help and been rejected? Probably not. Aiden was smart enough to know not to bother.

“Lambert.”

Lambert looked up to Aiden, fully dressed in worn, soft clothes, and realized he’d been sitting staring at the floor, and his breath was caught up in his throat. He pushed to his feet. “I’m fine.” He looked around for something to distract Aiden from the way he was looking at him, and pointed to the letter on the table. “So, what’s this?”

“Oh.” Aiden’s eyes widened as he saw the folded paper, and he darted over to snatch it up. “I thought if I…It doesn’t matter now. Burn it.” 

Aiden headed for the fireplace, but Lambert stepped in front of him. “If you died? That what you mean?”

“Well, yes.” Aiden tightened his grip on the letter, crumpling the paper.

“Aiden…” Lambert couldn’t exactly say why this made him so incandescently angry: thinking of Aiden dead by that fucking sorceress’s hand, because Lambert hadn’t been there, and being left with a fucking letter. Not being able to _tell_ Aiden how much of an idiot he’d been to go alone. Not being able to tell Aiden anything anymore. “So if you were dead, I’d have a fucking letter that said, what, so long, thanks for the good times?”

“Among other things. Maybe I’ll tell you someday.” Aiden stepped past Lambert and tossed the letter in the fire, and they both stood watching the paper crack and curl, then dissolve in the flames. “It seemed prudent, just in case.”

Lambert’s rage burned out as quickly as it had come, and a flash of fear replaced it. “You thought you weren’t gonna be able to kill her.”

“I didn’t know.” Aiden looked away. “I tried so many times, when I was a trainee. But I couldn’t touch her. I’ve been preparing for this a long time.” He suddenly looked exhausted, ashen and drooping. “I’m tired.”

“Right.” Lambert was standing here interrogating Aiden when he clearly needed to collapse. He could feel the echo of it in his own body, the bone-deep ache that came after the adrenaline of combat subsided. “I can leave.”

“Don’t--” Aiden stepped towards him, hand raised, then stopped and drew back. “Just, if you don’t want to. I’d like it if you could stay.”

“Sure.” Lambert shrugged. “Don’t mind saving money on a room.” He ignored the eyeroll that statement inspired and went to dig out his bedroll.

“Hey.” Aiden put a warm hand on Lambert’s shoulder. It felt kind of nice, a comforting weight. Lambert turned to look at him. 

“It’s a big enough bed,” Aiden said, waving a hand towards it. “If you… I’m not gonna--”

“I know.” And Lambert did know. He did. Aiden wasn’t going to hurt him. It might actually be kind of nice, Lambert thought, having him close by after the fucking day they’d had. Lambert kicked off his boots and waved at the bed. “Go on.”

Aiden slid under the blankets and shuffled over to the far edge of the bed to curl up on his side like he always did. Lambert followed, settling onto his own half of the bed. He was between Aiden and the door, so he’d wake up if the fucker tried to creep out in the morning. 

As Lambert fell asleep, he realized Aiden smelled faintly of lavender. 

And in the morning, if Lambert happened to find his arm wrapped around Aiden’s waist and their bodies pressed together, well, it had been an unusually cold night for late August.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Specific warnings for this chapter: Lambert is nonconsensually fondled and threatened with worse. This chapter also contains references to abuse Lambert suffered as a trainee, but does not explicitly describe the abuse he endured.


	6. Plus one (Part A)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sorry for the long delay. Quarantimes, am I right? Anyway, the chapter count has gone up by one, because resolution takes a long time, it turns out. I hope you can forgive me! Thanks as always to hobbitdragon for all the cheerleading and support.
> 
> Content warning: Non-graphic mentions of child abuse. There's also an attempt to initiate sex while intoxicated.

Lambert was leading his horse out of a village with shallow but bloody claw marks across his back and not nearly enough coin in exchange for the drowners he’d killed when a spring storm blew in and dumped enough water on him to drown a cat. He swore and spat and kicked at the rocks on the road, then led not-Miszka into the forest to find better shelter. He was cold and wet, and the claw marks on his back were still bleeding and were going to be hell to reach, and he wanted Aiden. 

He stopped in his tracks at the strength of that thought. Of how much he wanted Aiden to step out of the trees right now and tease him about always getting caught in the rain. Aiden would listen to him gripe about how much he hated weather like this, and he’d clean the grit out of the wounds on Lambert’s back. He’d probably have some dry clothes for Lambert to borrow--how did he always keep his gear so dry, fucking Cat magic?--and they’d find someplace dry for their bedrolls. Aiden might even suggest that he and Lambert share, and Lambert wouldn’t get that sick feeling in his gut he would have if anyone else suggested such a thing. And he could lie next to Aiden and feel Aiden’s arm around his waist and the solid warmth of Aiden’s body against his back, and breathe in the smell of him. 

Lambert stood there in the rain, closed his eyes, and let the wanting wash through him, the way he would a hunger pang or the pain of a sudden wound. Then he pulled at not-Miszka’s reins and walked on until he found a dense stand of trees to camp under. 

As he gathered dry tinder for a fire, Lambert realized he might have a problem. Hunger or pain could be pushed aside, but you had to eat eventually, had to tend the wound or it would fester. Lambert wasn’t prepared to give this feeling a name, but whatever it was, he felt doubtful that it would go away on its own. 

It happened again a few weeks later, when he was fighting a manticore. The thing had knocked him against a tree, and he’d barely managed to roll when it pounced. He didn’t have time to get on his feet before it was on him again, and so he cast Aard, sending the thing straight up into the air. It squawked in alarm, and tried to right itself, but couldn’t get its wings unfolded. Lambert jumped to his feet in time to step out of the way and bring his sword up to use the weight of the manticore’s fall to decapitate it. 

As the head rolled away, Lambert threw his arms out and shouted, “Fuck yeah! Did you see that? You fucking see that?!” Because he was a fucking impressive witcher. 

There was no one within a mile or two to hear it, of course, and again that feeling hit him: _I wish Aiden was here._ It came down on him like the weight of that stooping manticore. His legs folded under him, and he ended up on his ass in the dirt. If Aiden were here, he'd laugh at Lambert for showing off. He’d clap, and probably shove Lambert or throw a pinecone at him and tell him not to get over-confident. They’d walk back to town together, and no one would hassle two witchers together. They could collect their fee, have a few drinks and some supper at the tavern, and swap stories of impressive things they’d done on contracts, exaggerating more and more until one of them couldn’t think of a grander feat to brag of. And they’d share a room, perhaps, and they’d be well-fed and a little drunk, and Lambert might lean in and press his lips to Aiden’s, and feel Aiden’s arms come up to hold onto him. Maybe Aiden would want to fuck him, and if he did he’d touch Lambert’s skin, and maybe say how much he liked fucking Lambert, and Aiden would be impressed by how good Lambert was, and Lambert would get to watch his face as he came. Afterwards they’d curl up under the covers together, and it’d be warm and quiet, and they’d fall asleep like that, smelling like each other. 

Fuck. This was officially a problem. 

Lambert got up off the ground, grabbed the manticore head, and started the long walk back to town. He always thought better on his feet. 

It wasn’t that he was afraid to admit that he was wrong. He might be an asshole, but he was an honest asshole. No, the problem was that when he made up his mind, he let his opinion be known, emphatically, which made it much more difficult to undo the consequences of that opinion when he’d misjudged. 

As he had with Aiden. 

He’d made his hostility towards Aiden’s advances unmistakable, and Aiden had taken him at his word. Therefore, if something was going to happen, Lambert would have to be the one to initiate it. And now Lambert had discovered that the idea of something more happening--something that kept Aiden by his side--was quite appealing.

Lambert ran into Geralt’s bard, and also Geralt, in a tavern, casually, just by chance, after Lambert had spent several weeks asking about them around half of Temeria.

“Have you considered, my prickly friend, that this Cat of yours may in fact be a decent person?” Jaskier asked Lambert, after they’d gone through five rounds of drinks and Lambert had delivered a highly edited account of his recent dealings with Aiden, making sure to hint heavily that he did not care about the man at all.

“There are no decent people,” Lambert scowled into his ale. 

“You cut me to the quick.” Jaskier laid a hand on his chest quite dramatically and swooned against Geralt, who pushed him back upright.

“And even if there were,” Lambert grumbled, “witchers aren’t people.”

“You are ridiculous,” Jaskier said, which was a bold statement coming from someone wearing what he was wearing. “You like this Cat, and your arguments are completely transparent. Do you want my advice or not?”

Lambert gulped down the remaining contents of his tankard and slammed it back on the table. “Yeah.”

Jaskier propped his elbows on the table, leaned in, and whispered, “If you want to take him to bed, you may have to explicitly say so.”

Lambert furrowed his brow at Jaskier. “Like, what, ‘Hey, you’re here, I’m here, let’s fuck?’”

“No no, no no no.” Jaskier gestured with his tankard. “Compliment him. But in an amusing, off-hand way.”

“I love the way you just sit in the corner and brood,” Geralt deadpanned.

“Hush, you.” Jaskier reached over to pat Geralt’s chest without looking. “And once you’ve given him a little compliment, then come right out and say you’d like to get to know him better. Carnally.”

“Got it.” Lambert settled back in his chair, mentally reviewing the procedure the way he would a battle plan. “Compliment, then proposition.”

“A little liquid courage never goes amiss,” Jaskier said. “Speaking of which.” He half stood and leaned further over the table to wave furiously at the barmaid. 

“Yes it does. Frequently.” Geralt grabbed Jaskier by the collar of his doublet and pulled him back into his chair. “Jaskier, you don’t know what havok you’re wreaking.”

“Nonsense!” Jaskier shouted cheerfully in Geralt’s face. “My advice is perfectly sound. Tried and tested across the Continent.”

“And what, pray tell,” Geralt asked, quirking an eyebrow, “is the rate of violent rejection to enthusiastic acceptance of your propositions?”

Lambert did not hear the answer, because he was already stumbling out to the stable, calling for his horse.

Lambert followed Aiden’s trail to a village in Kerack. When he arrived, however, the village alderman informed him he’d already sent a witcher out to deal with the harpies, and had no intention of paying a second.

Well, that was fine. Lambert didn’t want to fuck with a nest of harpies, anyway. He took a room at the town’s only inn, stashed his gear, made a few preparations, and settled in for some dedicated drinking. The barmaid kept bringing him ale as long as he kept setting down coin. He spiked it liberally with White Gull while he rehearsed under his breath what he’d say to Aiden when he arrived.

The evening patrons came, and most had gone home again by the time Lambert saw familiar yellow-green eyes before him.

“They said you’ve been here all day,” Aiden said. Even his voice was beautiful. His dark curls had grown out a bit since they’d parted. Lambert wanted to run his fingers through them. “Something wrong?”

“You have shiny hair,” Lambert said, proud of how little his words slurred. He pushed to his feet and held himself up against the wall. “Wanna fuck?”

“Uh,” Aiden said. He eyed the nearly empty demijohn of White Gull on the table. “In principle, yes.”

“Good.” Lambert pawed at his breeches. The fastenings seemed slippery. Had they been slippery when he put them on this morning?

Aiden’s hand on his arm stopped him. “Let’s go upstairs, shall we?”

Lambert followed Aiden up the stairs, which were much more crooked than he remembered. Aiden put a shoulder under his arm and helped Lambert navigate. Good coordination, Cats.

“I got a room,” Lambert announced. “For fucking.”

“Good for you.” Aiden dug the key out of Lambert’s pocket, and Lambert pushed his hips into the contact. Aiden ignored him in favor of jimmying the door open. He drew a sign with his long, graceful fingers, which Lambert thought would feel very good sliding into him, and a fire flared to life in the grate.

“All right. I’m gonna show you a good time now.” Lambert was fully qualified to show most anyone a good time, but he found he actually _wanted_ to see Aiden shudder with pleasure, and hear him groan as he grasped at Lambert’s hair, and taste the climax Lambert would give him. He tried to walk to Aiden, but the floor was lumpy, and he stumbled against Aiden’s chest.

“Uh huh.” Aiden’s hands on his upper arms felt warm. “Why don’t you sit on the bed first. I’d like that.”

“Sure.” Lambert turned towards the bed, which was much further away than he’d thought. Aiden’s hand on his own kept him steady until he could drop down onto the edge. He tried the fastenings on his breeches again. “I got myself ready for you. Wanna see? Fuck, I used to do that every day, just in case, but I’m a little raspy. A little... wispy.” Lambert frowned at his words. “A little out of practice. Still tight, though. Mutant healing’s good for that, right?”

“Yeah. It is.” Aiden knelt at Lambert’s feet and began to untie Lambert’s boots. “Gotta get these off, first. I want you comfortable.”

“Comfortable, pfft. I’m not gonna break.” Lambert gave up on his breeches and stripped off his shirt, then looked down at Aiden pulling off his boots. His hair looked so damn soft. “You gonna fuck me or not?”

When Aiden didn’t immediately answer, a jolt of panic pierced the pleasant fuzz of Lambert’s brain.

“Wait.” Lambert slid off the bed onto his knees to face Aiden. “I can suck your cock first if you want. Everyone says I’m good with my mouth. One of the first things I was taught in fact.”

“Lambert.” Aiden’s face was tight. “I’m not--”

“At least give me a fucking chance.” Lambert reached out a hand to grab at Aiden’s crotch. He wasn’t even hard yet. That wasn’t a problem. Lambert could help with that. 

Aiden snatched Lambert’s wrist and dragged Lambert’s hand away from him. Gods he was strong. Could probably hold Lambert down and take what he wanted. He was strong, but he wasn’t cruel. It probably wouldn’t even hurt much.

“Come on. Tell me how you want me,” Lambert demanded.

“Lambert.” Aiden closed his eyes for a moment, then said, “Get on the bed, please.”

“Fucking finally.” Lambert used the bed frame to pull to his feet so he could tip himself over onto the bed.

“Lie down,” Aiden said. “On your belly.”

Lambert obeyed, though it took some effort to get his limbs arranged properly. He still had most of his clothes on, but Lambert didn’t care about that. Aiden could move what he needed to, and Lambert could just lie here and take it. Like his first time, except Lambert wasn’t an idiot now. He’d prepared for this, and he wouldn’t actually be _injured_ , even if Aiden was rough.

Lambert felt the bed dip as Aiden sat down, and he braced himself. But then a warm weight settled over him. A blanket?

“Rest a moment.”

“The fuck?” Panic flared in Lambert’s breast, and his breath came faster, in short, shallow gulps. He tried to push himself up, but his limbs felt very heavy. “You’re leaving?”

“I’m right here.” Aiden’s hand settled on the back of Lambert’s neck, cool against Lambert’s burning skin. “Not going anywhere. I want you to relax, all right?”

“Right.” Lambert waited to hear the next order, but he found his eyes getting heavy and his muscles slackening under the comforting pressure of Aiden’s hand.  
\--

Lambert awoke to the glare of sunlight and an absolutely vicious headache. A hiss escaped him as he pried his eyes open to look around for clues as to where he was and what the fuck he’d done last night. His equipment was piled in a corner. There was a bucket, a waterskin, and an unmarked vial next to the bed. And Aiden was slumped against the far wall, with his head tipped back, snoring softly.

Aiden… _oh fuck._. A wave of nausea swept over Lambert. He clutched at the bucket just in time to be sick. When he raised his head to wipe his mouth, Aiden was looking at him.

“That vial’s Widow’s Tears. If you want it,” Aiden said quietly, soft enough not to rattle Lambert’s aching head.

 _Never drink an elixir you haven’t brewed yourself,_ Torrin had told them a hundred times. Every witcher had different sensitivities and tolerance: it wasn’t safe. But at this point, Lambert thought poisoning himself with an unknown elixir might be preferable to facing Aiden.

Lambert snatched the vial, pulled the cork out of it with his teeth, and drank the whole thing. The minty taste chased away some of the nausea as it went down. Lambert threw himself back on the bed, flung his arm over his eyes, and wished for death.

No such luck. Almost immediately his headache began to subside, and the sensation of rolling on ocean swells also faded. But the hot prickle of shame all over his skin showed no sign of letting up. 

“That helping?” Aiden asked.

“Why are you still here?” Lambert kept his arm over his eyes and could almost believe it was because he didn’t want the sunlight to exacerbate his hangover.

“I told you I’d stay. And...” Aiden fell silent, so silent Lambert might not have realized he was in the room if he hadn’t already known. “And I wanted to find out if you meant what you said, or if it was just the White Gull talking. If it _was_ just the White Gull, I--”

“It wasn’t,” Lambert said. It didn’t seem like such a difficult thing to say, here in this dark cocoon. He’d already made an absolute ass of himself last night. What was a little more humiliation? “I meant it.”

“Oh.” Aiden let out a long breath. “Good.”

“Good?” Lambert lifted his arm off his eyes to peer at Aiden. “Why good?”

“I had been hoping that at some point you would be genuinely interested in fucking me,” Aiden said. “So if you are--”

“I am,” Lambert said immediately. He pushed himself up to lean against the headboard, keeping his eyes fixed on Aiden. A moment ago Lambert had been certain he’d ruined any chance of Aiden wanting him, so if Aiden was willing to let Lambert try again, he wouldn’t fuck it up. “Yeah, I am.”

“That’s....” Aiden huffed out a breath. A cautious smile was brightening his face. “That’s good news.”

“Right.” Lambert wasn’t about to wait for a written invitation. He reached for the waterskin and gulped down a healthy portion. “Just give me another minute for my stomach to settle, and I’ll be ready to go.”

Aiden made a small sound, and Lambert’s eyes snapped to him. He saw the smile on Aiden’s face turn brittle. Then Aiden shook his head and pushed to his feet. “Actually. I was thinking we might have some food first. Maybe a walk. I could stand to stretch my legs.”

“Shit, right.” Lambert kicked free of the blankets. “You slept on the floor. The fuck you do that for?”

“Oh, reasons.” Aiden tossed Lambert the saddlebag that held his clothes. “Come on, put on something that doesn’t smell like a tavern floor and let’s get some food.”  
\--

Lambert realized, as he shoveled down a heaping plate of sausages, warm fresh bread, and cheese, that he might not have eaten any food in a day or two. He’d been a bit fixated. He kept on eye on Aiden to make sure that he ate heartily as well. Aiden’s cheeks were not so gaunt as they had been, and the shirt--one Lambert had seen him wear often--didn’t hang so loose on him as before. He seemed to be taking care of himself. That was good. Aiden deserved to have nice things. And Lambert wanted to give Aiden whatever nice things were in his power to give. Lambert slowed down his pace so Aiden wouldn’t feel the need to leave as soon as Lambert was done, and they both cleared their plates. 

They stopped by the stables to check on the horses, where Kicia accepted a carrot from Lambert, and Aiden gave Lambert’s horse, whose name was still not Myszka, an apple. Then Aiden led the way down to the creek that ran past the village. They walked beside it, Lambert stopping every so often to pick some meadowsweet or examine a turtle sunning itself on a rock. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d simply… walked somewhere, with no destination in mind. But somehow, with Aiden at his side, it didn’t seem like a waste of time.

Lambert was crouched on the bank of the creek, squinting through the water at the fish and trying to decide if he could catch one with his bare hands when Aiden said, “Lambert?”

Lambert looked over to where Aiden sat cross-legged on a flat rock that rose above the flow of the stream, basking in the sun and gazing out at the water. “Yeah?”

“There’s a thing I want to say.” Aiden took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “That sorceress…”

“The one you…” Lambert made a stabbing motion with his hand.

“Yeah, her.” Aiden smiled, but it faded quickly. “She was one of the mages that administered the Trials. She was one of the mages that…”

Lambert waited, barely breathing. The water continued to burble over the rocks, and the birds sang in the trees, but Lambert didn’t take his eyes from Aiden.

“They had me do things, when I was a trainee.” Aiden stole a brief, sideways look at Lambert before he fixed his eyes out at the stream. “To other people. Who didn’t want me to do them.”

“Aiden.” Lambert couldn’t find any other words. A visceral horror rose up in him, picturing Aiden as helpless as Lambert had been against that sorceress’s power, throwing himself desperately against that implacable restraint as she bent him to her will. Lambert’s stomach twisted, and for a moment he thought he might vomit into the reeds. But seeing Aiden, still calmly staring out across the water, Lambert choked down the nausea. He didn’t have the right to make a fuss if Aiden wasn’t. Lambert ran Aiden’s words back in his head, looking for something to say. “One of them?”

"The last of them," Aiden said.

“They’re dead,” Lambert said. From Aiden’s tone, he felt sure that was the case, but if there was even a chance another one of those fuckers was out there--

“Yes.” Aiden tossed a stone into the creek. It broke the surface, sank, and disappeared.

"Why didn't you tell me?” Lambert asked, but he knew it was a stupid question even before Aiden replied.

"Why didn't you tell me about yours?”

Lambert looked away. He should have realized Aiden would have guessed about him. None of the Wolves seemed to see it, but Lambert had often thought it had to be obvious how he’d been damaged, a flaw as visible as Eskel’s scar. Almost everyone seemed to easily read the scars Lambert carried--Aiden had just reacted differently than most. 

After a moment, Lambert said, “I didn’t tell you because there's no one left to kill."

“Mm. You get to kill them?” Aiden asked.

A lump rose in Lambert’s throat as the fantasy came to his mind easily, as it hadn’t for many years: Torrin at his feet, bloody from Lambert’s sword, defeated, paid back, dead. He swallowed hard, shook his head. Then he cleared his throat so he could speak. “No. I didn’t.”

“Sorry.” Aiden looked like he _was_ sorry, too, his fist clenching against the rock as if he desperately wished to punch someone. He was silent while Lambert got his breathing under control and wiped the back of his hand over his eyes. 

“Why are you telling me this?” Lambert asked, when he was sure he could speak again without embarrassing himself. 

“It’s important,” Aiden said, looking into the water. “I need you to understand, I can’t do that to you. I won’t. I swore I wouldn’t let that happen to anyone because of me, not again.” Aiden shifted on his rock to look at Lambert. “So, here’s the thing I want to say. I want you. I think I would really, really enjoy being your lover. But if you’re just doing this because you think you owe me, or because you wanted to at some point and don’t want to go back on your word, or some other reason that’s not because you actually care for me, then that’s... no I just can’t, all right?”

“All right.” Lambert stood up and brushed some dirt off his breeches, watching Aiden from the corner of his eye. “I’m not great at saying what I want.”

“Mm.”

Lambert glanced over at Aiden, who seemed to be holding back a smile. When their eyes met, a giggle burst out of Aiden’s mouth, and he clapped a hand over it. 

“Fuck you! I’m trying to be serious.”

“I know! I know.” Aiden wiped the smile off his face and settled down, looking expectantly at Lambert. “I’m listening!”

“Witchers don’t get what they want,” Lambert explained, but, well, that wasn’t always accurate. So he tried again. “ _I_ don’t get what I want. That’s not something that happens. So it’s easier not to want anything.”

“Can be, yeah,” Aiden agreed.

“But I want you.” And wasn’t that a novel feeling: an actual interest in having someone touch him. Lambert _had_ gotten off with people before, sometimes even when he didn’t want to. He knew sex _could_ feel good. His brothers had dragged him to brothels a few times, and the girls there knew lots of ways to get a cock hard, to make someone come. And even though Lambert couldn’t say for sure that he wanted Aiden to make him come, Lambert felt certain he wanted to see Aiden come: to see him relaxed and boneless and absolutely stupid with pleasure, and know that it was because of Lambert. He’d been imagining that a lot, in fact, for longer than he cared to admit. “I started thinking maybe I did... that time at Murivel, maybe. And it didn’t go away. So now I’m pretty fucking sure.”

“Then why… Why the…” Aiden gestured back towards the inn.

“I told you, I don’t get what I want. Hearing you say no would have hurt less when I’m stinking drunk.” And for all that Lambert thought he might actually enjoy Aiden fucking him, he had wanted the plausible deniability of the alcohol if he hadn’t been able to get it up himself.

“Right. Of course.” Aiden jumped deftly from his rock onto the bank and came to stand next to Lambert. “If you ask me now, I won’t say no.”

“Oh.” Lambert took that in. He felt fairly certain Aiden wasn’t joking. He was right there, solid and real, so near Lambert could feel the warmth from his body. “Fine. So, wanna fuck?”

“Yeah. I’d like--”

Lambert surged forward to capture Aiden’s mouth in a kiss. Aiden kissed back, bringing his hands up to cradle Lambert’s face. Lambert leaned into it, a small whine escaping as he clutched at Aiden’s shirt to pull him closer. 

When they at last broke apart for air, Aiden brushed his thumb across Lambert’s cheek. “Not out here, all right? I want to take my time.”

“Sure,” Lambert said, feeling a bit dizzy. He wasn’t sure what Aiden thought could possibly take more than ten minutes or so, but he was certainly willing to find out. “Back to the inn?”

“Come on.” Aiden twined his fingers with Lambert’s and pulled him back towards the path.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one more chapter to go! And I promise it will arrive faster than this one did.


	7. Plus One (Part B)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A million thanks to hobbitdragon, without whose beta assistance this chapter would not exist.

The door to their inn room had barely closed before Lambert began shedding his clothes. He knew what was expected, and it would be easier if he just did it on his own. Keeping himself moving was one way to distract himself from that familiar nausea that would kick in any second now.

But then Lambert caught himself and froze, holding his shirt in his hand. Aiden wasn’t going to hurt him. Lambert was here because he wanted to be. He wanted Aiden. He drew in a long breath through his nose as he did during meditation, and willed his bowstring-taut muscles to relax.

“Lambert.”

Lambert turned and found himself enfolded in Aiden’s arms as Aiden kissed him. With Aiden touching him, Lambert’s body went slack and boneless, awash in a deep relief like the feeling of being closed away from a monster behind thick, strong walls. Lambert didn’t need to think of anything aside from Aiden’s mouth on his. 

Lambert might not have had as much experience at kissing as he did at other things, but he was a fast learner with a strong motivation: he was determined to make this good for Aiden. And Aiden certainly seemed to know what he was doing--the firm-soft pressure of his lips against Lambert’s was extremely distracting. 

Well, he’d show Aiden that he had some skills of his own. Lambert tugged at the fastenings on Aiden’s breeches. That, at least, was much easier when he wasn’t stinking drunk. He knew Aiden’s reactions out of bed, which were usually a good clue for reactions _in_ bed, and he’d soon figure out how Aiden liked it. Aiden couldn’t be finding much enjoyment in kissing Lambert, and Lambert didn’t want him to give up before they got to the things he was actually good at.

“Hey.” Aiden curled his fingers around Lambert’s wrist and held him still. “There’s no rush.” 

Their faces were so close together that Lambert couldn’t properly see Aiden’s expression. He sounded amused, which could mean Lambert was embarrassing himself, or could just mean Aiden’s perpetually cheerful attitude extended to his sexual adventures as well. Lambert muttered, “I know,” just to give the impression that he had the situation under control. “I thought you said you wanted to fuck.”

Aiden drew back to regard him with a slightly dazed expression, as if kissing Lambert had made him stupid. “Lambert. This isn’t a contract I’m trying to finish.” He slid his right hand over Lambert’s shoulder and down the naked skin of his back. “I want to savor this. Is that all right?”

“Fine.” Lambert’s eyes slid closed at the touch of Aiden’s fingers down his arm as Aiden guided them over to sit on the bed. 

Which was when Lambert noticed that his cock was stiffening in his breeches. And wasn’t that a thing--he was still wearing _breeches_ , Aiden was still _fully clothed_ , and all they’d done was kiss and touch a little. That shouldn’t have been enough to undo him like this, Lambert thought wildly, as his heart thundered in his chest.

Aiden pressed his long, slim fingers to Lambert’s cheek and drew him in for another kiss. It occurred to Lambert that he could put his hands on Aiden, too, so he raised a hand slowly, giving Aiden time to object before he stroked a hand through Aiden’s hair. It was just as soft as Lambert had imagined. Aiden made an encouraging noise and pushed closer, so Lambert ventured to push his fingers deeper into Aiden’s curls, luxuriating in the silken feel of them against his calloused skin. 

With Aiden’s skull cradled in his palm, Lambert could have easily broken Aiden’s neck. But Aiden didn’t seem afraid. He’d put himself at Lambert’s mercy, unguarded against all the kinds of hurt Lambert knew how to inflict. In fact, Aiden didn’t seem concerned in the least. Small, pleased noises escaped him between kisses, and he seemed to be entirely occupied with exploring Lambert’s mouth. As if he was really enjoying just this. 

Lambert was starting to see the appeal. Aiden felt so close, in him and around him, and nothing hurt. The angle wasn’t even uncomfortable. Best of all, it was clear from the smell and the taste and the feel that Aiden wanted Lambert. 

Aiden kept touching Lambert’s skin, rubbing his hand across Lambert’s scarred back and sides, then sliding his thumb across Lambert’s cheek. Lambert could smell Aiden’s arousal, but Aiden wasn’t flipping Lambert onto his belly or pushing Lambert’s head down to his crotch. 

But if he didn’t, Lambert wasn’t entirely certain what should happen next. All he knew was that he wanted more of those delicious sounds Aiden made when he was pleased.

“You want me to get the oil?” Lambert’s eyes flicked to the table next to the bed where the mostly-full vial sat. He’d made a generous batch of it when he’d decided to come looking for Aiden. He’d used some on himself yesterday before he settled in to wait for Aiden’s return, but there was plenty left for whatever Aiden wanted to do.

“Mm.” Aiden rested his forehead against Lambert’s and combed his fingers through Lambert’s hair. “You getting bored?”

“No.” The word came out sounding much more horrified than Lambert had meant it to. 

Aiden threw back his head and laughed. “What, then? You that impatient to fuck me?”

Lambert blinked at Aiden. “No.” His mind stuttered and skipped as he imagined Aiden beneath him, skinny waist bruising under Lambert’s grip as Aiden’s pained grunts accompanied every rough thrust. “I…” He knew some people enjoyed getting fucked--how could he not, with Geralt for a brother? But Lambert’s gut churned as he pictured Aiden held down and used like that. “No.” He turned away, shaking his head to clear it of that image.

“All right. We don’t need to do that, then.” Aiden rubbed his cheek against Lambert, pressing into his side like the giant cat he was. “What do you want?”

Lambert wanted to see that look in Aiden’s eyes, that smile as he focused on Lambert as if he were the most interesting thing in the world. He wanted to see Aiden shake and shout through a climax that left him exhausted and sated, and to know that he’d been the one to make Aiden feel that way. He wanted Aiden to push his body up against Lambert’s afterwards, as he did when they shared a bedroll in the cold. And he wanted Aiden to want him by his side, to give Lambert those same fond looks and familiar touches even after he’d fucked Lambert.

What Lambert said was, “I can do anything. Whatever you want.”

“Ah.” Aiden pressed his face into Lambert’s neck. “Would you show me?”

“Show you?” Lambert pictured holding his legs against his chest, spread so Aiden could take what he wanted, then pictured Aiden’s expression upon seeing such a view, and Lambert’s mind stuttered to a halt.

“Show me what you like,” Aiden clarified. “What feels good to you.” Lambert’s uncertainty must have shown on his face, because Aiden clarified, “When you touch yourself.”

Lambert’s brain rolled that request around for a moment before it clicked in his mind why Aiden would ask such a thing. He looked away. “You don’t want to touch me.”

“Wrong. I’m touching you right now.” Aiden shoved his cheek against Lambert’s face for emphasis. “And I’d like to keep touching you. I’d just appreciate some pointers. If you don’t want to touch yourself, maybe you can just show me where to touch you instead.” And Aiden sat there kissing a line across Lambert’s collarbone while he let Lambert think that over.

Of course Aiden wasn’t going to make Lambert do anything he didn’t want to. Lambert could kick his ass if he tried, after all. And when Lambert pictured Aiden’s pupils blown wide and dark, his cheeks flushed just from watching Lambert, well. That held a certain appeal, too.

Lambert stood and efficiently stripped off the rest of his clothing, tossing it in a pile where it would be easily retrievable if he needed to make a quick exit. When Lambert straightened up from pulling off his breeches, Aiden was watching him, smile wide and glowing as if he’d just received a bounty of a thousand Novigrad crowns. 

“What?” Lambert asked, glancing down at his naked body, hard and unyielding and utilitarian as the weapon it was.

“I am the luckiest man on the Continent,” Aiden said with a sigh more suited to the heroine of one of those books about lovesick pirates Eskel was always reading. “Can I touch you?”

Lambert shrugged. “If you want.” But Lambert wanted that, too, in fact. He wanted those long, gentle fingers on his body. He’d been thinking about it for weeks.

Aiden surged to his feet and tore at his own clothes, flinging them haphazardly left and right in a hopeless mess. Then he sidled up to Lambert and leaned into him, pressing the warm length of their bodies together. Lambert let out a small, surprised grunt as his prick bumped up against Aiden’s belly, beside the hard length of Aiden’s cock.

“Oh fuck,” Aiden whispered. “Why are you so completely, impossibly good?”

“I’m not _good_ ,” Lambert protested, but most of his attention was on the heat of Aiden’s body against his, so his words sounded distant.

“You are to me.” Aiden stepped away and turned to display a particularly luscious ass before climbing onto the bed. “Come here?” Aiden asked, and Lambert found himself helpless to resist.

Aiden pushed back so he was sitting in the middle of the bed, and then drew Lambert forward to straddle his waist. Lambert’s bare ass pressed against Aiden’s thighs and his stiff cock bumped up against Aiden’s, startling a gasp out of both of them. It would also be an excellent position for additional kissing, Lambert thought. When he tested this theory, he turned out to be right.

Aiden kept his hand against Lambert’s chest like he wanted to touch him, not just to hold him in place or move him to a more convenient position. It felt so hot against Lambert’s skin, like a brand, and Lambert thought recklessly that he would let Aiden mark him like that, burn his claim into Lambert’s flesh. But Aiden wouldn’t ask, came the following thought, because Aiden wouldn’t want to see him in pain. 

“Lambert,” Aiden gasped. “I need to slow down, or this’ll be over too soon.”

Lambert considered, for an instant, carrying on anyway, but he realized he wasn’t ready for this to be over yet, either. Lambert gave Aiden one more firm kiss, then threw himself onto the bed beside him.

Aiden breathed out unevenly, gave himself a little shake, then turned on his side and propped up his head with one hand to look at lambert. “I’m enjoying this a bit too much.”

“Been awhile since you last got laid?” the quip was out of Lambert’s mouth before he considered that maybe he didn’t want to be antagonizing Aiden right now. 

But Aiden only hummed consideringly, and reached down to lift Lambert’s hand and pull it towards him. “I love your hands,” he said, rubbing his calloused thumb over Lambert’s palm. “Tough, but beautiful.” He traced the path of a scar with a fingertip--a long one stretching from Lambert’s palm over the back of his hand where a giant centipede’s pincer had snagged him. “And complex. Like you.”

“Complex,” Lambert snorted. “Bullshit.”

Aiden ignored him, tracing a finger down Lambert’s side with his stupidly long arm and then petting down Lambert’s leg. “Your thighs, too. Gods, your muscles.”

“I’m a witcher,” Lambert muttered. “All witchers have _muscles._ ”

“Well, I like yours the best.” Aiden wriggled closer to Lambert and whispered against his cheek. “I like all of you, in fact.” 

Stupid as it was, Lambert couldn’t help the flush that rose to his cheeks. “Yeah, well, you can have whatever you want.”

“Will you show me?” Aiden asked again. “How you get yourself off?”

“If you want,” Lambert shrugged. He didn’t really understand what Aiden would get out of it, but if it would make him happy, then why not. 

Lambert didn’t spend a lot of time getting himself off. It was a chore, mostly, attending to the demanding needs of his midden heap of a mutated body. But he’d learned how to do it efficiently over the years. 

So Lambert sat up on his knees, spread his legs to give Aiden a proper view, spat into his palm, then wrapped his hand around his shaft, which had softened a bit. Fast, hard strokes were the most efficient, so he started with those. 

“Does that feel good?” Aiden asked, sounding genuinely curious. He had his eyes trained on Lambert’s face, not where Lambert’s hand was stripping his cock..

Lambert grunted. It didn’t feel as good as Aiden’s hands tracing his thighs. And feeling good wasn’t really the point when Lambert got himself off. It was just about meeting a physical need, and he didn’t see the point of a bunch of bells and whistles when he’d already learned the quickest way to get it done.

“What if you went a little slower?” Aiden asked, sounding hesitant. He sat up to face Lambert, settling cross-legged on the bed to watch him work. “Tried teasing the head with just the tips of your fingers?”

Lambert didn’t know. It had been many years since he’d bothered to try anything new. And generally when he slept with other people, his climax wasn’t really the point. But if Aiden might like it, Lambert supposed he could try.

The soft touch of his fingertips swirling around the head sent a shiver of pleasure through Lambert. It wasn’t going to make him come any time soon, but it felt nice, in a different kind of way. And more importantly, Aiden was leaning forward, his eyes darting from Lambert’s face to his hand and back again, seemingly overwhelmed with choices of enjoyable things to watch. 

“Oh, that’s lovely.” Aiden eased forward, nearly touching Lambert now. “Is it too much if you use your thumb and rub it over the slit, there?”

It was almost too much, a sharp-edged pleasure that wouldn’t be good for more than a second or two. Was that what Aiden wanted to see, Lambert gritting his teeth and twitching at the overstimulation? But no--Lambert eased off. Aiden wasn’t here to make Lambert hurt. He wanted to see Lambert enjoying himself.

“Yeah, that’s usually too much for me, too,” Aiden said. He had the vial of oil in one hand, pouring it over the fingers of the other hand. He set the vial aside, then curled his hand around his own cock, just holding it. “Though I think at this point almost anything would get me off.” He nodded towards where Lambert was still stroking himself. “May I?”

“Yeah,” Lambert said immediately. He’d already told Aiden he could fuck him, so he wasn’t sure what the point of asking again was, but he stopped wondering as soon as Aiden’s hands curled around Lambert’s shaft. The oil eased the way, and Aiden’s touch was teasingly light on his prick. One hand slid down to cup Lambert’s balls, hefting them gently. Lambert threw his head back and grabbed hold of Aiden’s shoulder to anchor himself. It didn’t feel like it did when he touched himself, or the few times someone had tried to give him a reach-around. Even when he’d been to brothels, there’d been a business-like efficiency to the women’s touches. But this felt...heavy with potential, like snow rolling down from a mountaintop that was destined to become an avalanche. And Aiden made _sounds_ as he did it--high and eager, like touching Lambert was some sort of pleasure. 

Lambert opened his eyes to look. Aiden’s expression was pure bliss, staring with slightly parted lips back at Lambert as Aiden’s hands worked his cock and balls, grinning anew every time his touch drew another breathy sound out of Lambert.

“Your face,” Lambert gasped. “The way you look…”

“When I see you feeling good? Yeah.” Aiden swallowed hard and nodded. “Yeah, that is… gods I love seeing you like this.” He twisted his slicked hand around the head of Lambert’s cock, making Lambert groan.

“Since I first saw you, I wanted to see you let go. Wanted to see if I could turn that fierce growl into a moan.” 

At the moment, Lambert couldn’t remember how to growl. Aiden leisurely slid his hand up and down Lambert’s cock as Lambert panted, his entire world contracting to that searing touch.

“You feel so good.” Aiden pressed a kiss to Lambert’s lips that Lambert leaned into, feeling heavy and boneless. Then Aiden drew away and said, “Fucking hell, Lambert, you’re a fucking treasure. Such a good man.”

“Not a man,” Lambert said automatically, but was somewhat distracted, thrusting up into Aiden’s hand.

Aiden hummed agreeably. “Such a good boy, then.”

Lambert shuddered, then tensed as he felt Torrin’s hand on his neck, heard the words that had meant so fucking much to him in the training yard, the words that he’d tried not to enjoy as Torrin whispered them to him when they were alone. He blinked, staring at the blank wooden wall over Aiden’s shoulder. 

Aiden. Aiden was the one touching him.

“Lambert?” Aiden’s hands had gone still against Lambert’s skin. “Should I not--”

“Say it again,” Lambert whispered.

“What part?” Aiden ducked his head to catch Lambert’s eye. “That you’re a good boy?”

Lambert shuddered again, but this time he focused on the feel of Aiden’s body against his, and warmth flared in his belly. He rolled his hips forward, reveling in the closeness of a man he’d chosen, a man he cared about. Lambert was here, now, and he could have this if he wanted it, and not if he didn’t. 

“You are. Such a good boy.” Aiden curled his hands around Lambert’s hips and nudged him forward until he was straddling Aiden’s lap. “You are so beautiful, and so impressive. Do you understand how impressive you are?” 

Lambert made a dismissive noise, but couldn’t find the words to actually protest, because he was busy remembering how to keep himself upright. Aiden curled an arm around Lambert’s waist to support him as Lambert listed forward against Aiden’s chest. 

“I mean it,” Aiden said. His hand was still around Lambert’s cock, drawing out a slow, buoyant pleasure. “That sharp fucking tongue. You can’t know how incredibly attractive I find that. I love touching you. You feel so fucking good. I am so lucky you picked me.”

Lambert whined, squirming in Aiden’s grip. Even if what Aiden said wasn’t true, it sent little frisons of helpless pleasure dancing across Lambert’s skin. His cock throbbed in Aiden’s grip, and Lambert realized with a startled gasp that that pleasure was dragging him over the edge. He grabbed at Aiden’s arms and couldn’t hold back a throaty groan as his climax washed through him. He shook as it went on in waves, spilling and spilling under Aiden’s confident ministrations.

“Fuck, yes,” Aiden said, gentling his touch as the aftershocks rolled away. “See. So fucking good.” Aiden lifted his sticky hand to his mouth and licked Lambert’s come off his fingers as he watched Lambert get his breath back. 

Lambert couldn’t take his eyes away from the sight, Aiden’s pink tongue darting out between his lips again and again, cleaning his fingers of every trace of Lambert’s seed.

“You don’t have to do that,” Lambert said faintly. He’d tasted enough spunk to know that it wasn’t some delicious treat. 

“I want everything you’ll give me,” Aiden said. He kept looking at Lambert as he pushed his thumb into his mouth and drew it out with a wet pop, then dropped his hand abruptly. “Or I mean… If it’s weird for you--?”

“No,” Lambert said quickly. It was weird, but only in the sense that Aiden was a complete freak even for a Cat witcher, and Lambert had known _that_ for years now. Let Aiden lick whatever he wanted. “It’s your tongue.”

Aiden’s bright smile came back, brilliant as the hot summer sun, and Lambert’s chest squeezed at the sight. Lambert wanted more of that, wanted to hear Aiden shout and groan, to put that look of wanton pleasure on Aiden’s face, to touch him absolutely everywhere until he learned all the ways to make Aiden come. He wanted everything. And he had to _show_ Aiden, he realized. Aiden deserved to know how much Lambert wanted _him_ , too. 

“Come here.” Lambert shoved Aiden, sending him falling back onto the mattress. Lambert settled himself astride Aiden’s thighs and looked at Aiden’s body spread out before him: an inviting expanse of warm brown skin, muscles not as completely whipcord lean as they’d been this spring, with an attractive pink flush spreading from his cheeks down his neck and onto his chest.

“Aiden,” Lambert panted. He couldn’t say anything more. He didn’t know how to say anything more.

Aiden seemed equally tongue-tied now, his flood of words stopped and his mouth half open. He didn’t grab at Lambert or try to roll them over, but only stared up at Lambert with wide-eyed wonder, as if Lambert was something precious: a chest full of treasure or a masterwork sword. And Lambert hadn’t even _done_ anything yet. 

But he wanted to. With Aiden laid out before him, Lambert had the chance to show him that Lambert _wanted_ him. He gave an appreciative hum as he surveyed what he had to work with. He’d seen Aiden naked before, but hadn’t really had the leisure to appreciate how beautiful a sight it was. Usually, Lambert didn’t care to see who he was in bed with. But he wanted to see Aiden. Wanted to see what made him moan or bite his lip, what made his pupils go wide, and what made him gasp Lambert’s name.

Lambert trailed his fingers down Aiden’s chest, through the thick hair, and down towards Aiden’s cock, stiff and full with arousal, straining against his belly. Lambert kept his eyes on Aiden’s face as he wrapped his hand around it. Aiden drew in a breath when Lambert touched him, and held Lambert’s gaze. Realizing that he had the power to stun Aiden like this, just by touching him, prompted a hum of pleasure deep in Lambert’s throat. 

And if just touching Aiden did that… Lambert tried a few of the things Aiden had suggested to him before: soft, light touches that made Aiden whine and push his hips up into Lambert’s touch; the slow slide of his thumb over the slit, just until Aiden gasped and shuddered, and then letting go; a twist of his hand around the head of Aiden’s cock, which made Aiden close his eyes and try to form words that disappeared in hoarse whispers. 

Lambert found himself grinning, feeling as powerful as if he’d learned a new Sign, shaping the universe to his will with just his hands and his mind as Aiden writhed and gasped under him. His own cock was hot and hard again against his belly again, throbbing with his heartbeat as he worked Aiden over. The sights and the sounds of Aiden’s pleasure were more than enough to have Lambert eager for another release.

And Lambert felt extremely smug about how little time it took to have Aiden gulping for air and grabbing at the sheets.

“Lambert,” Aiden gasped. “I’m going to--Lambert!”

“Go ahead,” Lambert said magnanimously. Aiden threw his head back, and his back arched, pushing up into Lambert’s touch. Lambert kept up the pace, stroking Aiden through it. Aiden went nearly silent as he climaxed, his whole body going taut as he spilled over Lambert’s fingers.

The aftershocks rolled through Aiden for several moments more, his hips jerking reflexively up as Lambert kept his hand moving slowly, milking every last drop. Lambert’s own hard cock was leaking against Aiden’s stomach, twitching with every movement of their bodies together. At last, Aiden batted weakly at Lambert’s shoulder. Lambert let go reluctantly and wiped his hand on the sheets. 

Aiden grasped at Lambert ineffectually, embarrassingly clumsy for a witcher. At last Lambert had mercy and went where Aiden had been trying to pull him, face down against Aiden’s chest with Aiden’s arms slung around his back, Lambert’s hard cock pressed between them.

“That…” Aiden panted. “Fuck… Lambert…. That….” 

“Yeah,” Lambert said, with what he thought was pardonable pride. That had been… interesting. Aiden had clearly enjoyed the experience, and Lambert had been the one to give it to him. And it had certainly taken more than ten minutes, which was different.

Aiden curled his arms more tightly around Lambert, which felt rather nice, but also meant Lambert wouldn’t be able to leave until Aiden was asleep. That was what usually came next, in Lambert’s experience. Aiden would pass out any minute now that he was finished. It was over. 

All at once that thought struck Lambert in the chest and stole away his breath. Aiden had gotten what he wanted. He’d gotten off, and now he’d be done with Lambert. There wouldn’t be more soft, gentle touches and arms tight around Lambert’s chest and sharp, loud bursts of laughter. He’d walk away now, as soon as it was convenient for him to do so, leaving Lambert cold and alone. Or he’d stay, and now that Lambert had opened the door to it, he’d take whatever he wanted from Lambert, whenever he wanted it. Lambert felt his muscles tensing as if in preparation for a fight. Why had he gotten naked? He hadn’t needed to be naked to get Aiden off, and now Lambert was vulnerable, defenceless. Stupid.

“Are you panicking, sweetheart?” Aiden whispered into Lambert’s hair. 

“No,” Lambert snapped. _Sweetheart?_

Aiden kissed the top of Lambert’s head. “I’ll do whatever you want, you know. Whatever you want. It scares me a bit how much I mean that. If you want to send me away tomorrow, I’ll go.” He petted a hand down Lambert’s back and held on even tighter. “If you want me to murder every living Wolf witcher for letting what happened to you happen, I’ll do that, too. And if you want me to stay, I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me.”

Lambert stiffened further in Aiden’s arms, and his breath caught in his chest. What a fucking thing to say. That couldn’t possibly be true. It made no sense. Lambert sat up, climbed off Aiden, and turned to confront him, to berate him for making such an absurd statement. 

Aiden was wide awake, watching Lambert with curiosity and concern. And what came out of Lambert’s mouth was, “Why?”

Aiden blinked. “Because you deserve to have what you want, and I want to be the one to make sure you get it.”

“I don't…” Lambert gave an incredulous huff. He couldn’t very well tell Aiden he was wrong, but what he was saying was patently absurd. “Why would…”

“You always were a little slow on the uptake.” Aiden brushed a hand through Lambert’s hair and tipped their foreheads together. “Is it so hard to believe that you deserve nice things?”

“Yes,” Lambert said in a voice that had turned scratchy and thick.

“Can you at least believe that I believe it?” Aiden asked.

“Fine, whatever,” Lambert growled. He’d pretend the sky was green if Aiden asked it of him, though that might be easier to believe.

“I’ll settle for that to start with.” Aiden kissed him again. 

Lambert kissed back. He thought he was getting the hang of this. It felt easy to press his body up against Aiden’s and hold him. As he did so, Lambert’s cock reminded him emphatically that it was interested in more. As the kissing continued, Lambert experimentally rocked his hips forward, pre-come slicking the way as his cock slid against Aiden’s belly. It wasn’t enough to make Lambert come--not nearly--but it didn’t need to be. Lambert would be content to stay here, just kissing Aiden and rubbing up against him, for another hour or two. Aiden didn’t even have to do anything. Lambert could just take care of it on his own, take his time, figure out just how he liked it, here with Aiden’s smell and his warmth and the sound of his breath.

“Can I….” Aiden croaked, swallowed, and tried again. “Please, can I?” 

“What?” Lambert shook himself out of his haze of pleasure and tried to remember what he was doing. “Oh, fuck me? Yeah, of course.” The answer came automatically, before he even had a chance to process what Aiden wanted.

“Not yet, I’m not a teenager anymore,” Aiden said with a laugh. “No, I’d like to suck your cock.”

Lambert fell still, hips stuttering to a halt. A sliver of dread cut into his arousal, unexpectedly sharp. There was no fucking reason for it. Aiden was already touching him--had been touching him. What the hell was the problem with getting his dick sucked? “If you want,” Lambert said slowly.

“I want to make you feel as good as you just made me feel.” 

“Oh.” Lambert drew back, looking down at the sheets. He wasn’t sure that sounded enjoyable. If Aiden wanted to, of course Lambert would do it. Showing he liked it wasn’t something he had done much. Most people who fucked him didn’t much care one way of the other how Lambert felt about it. But it wasn’t as if what Aiden was asking for was painful. So Lambert could certainly use his body to give Aiden pleasure in this way, too. “That’s fine.”

Lambert looked up, and found Aiden frowning back at him, wary. “You don’t want to. Let’s not, then,” Aiden said. “I can--”

“No,” Lambert interrupted. “It’s not… You do make me feel good. I…” How could Lambert say that the idea of Aiden on his knees for Lambert, choking, sputtering, Aiden feeling that pinch in his lungs and wondering when he’d next be allowed to breathe, Aiden’s eyes tearing up as he gagged--it stoked a sense of panic in Lambert. Maybe Aiden liked it--he said he liked it. But Lambert didn’t think he could forget what it felt like to be on his knees like that for long enough to get off. “What you were doing before. Talking to me. Could you…”

“Yeah.” Aiden swallowed. “Yeah.” He settled his back against the headboard, stretched out his legs, and settled his hands on his thighs where Lambert could see them. “Whenever you’re ready.” 

Lambert sat back on his heels and closed his eyes. He curled a hand around his cock, not too tight. He had softened a bit, just now, when that stupid fear had ambushed him out of nowhere, but that was over now. Aiden wasn’t going to do anything Lambert didn’t like. 

“Start slow, warm yourself up a bit,” Aiden said. “Yes, just like that. You look delicious like this. Perfect.”

Lambert focused on the sound of Aiden’s voice, warm and sweet like honey. He found need coiled and waiting inside him, more than ready to be picked up again at the first light touch to his cock. Fuck, that felt good--just wrapping his fingers around the head the way Aiden had told him to before. 

“Just feel it for awhile.” Aiden’s voice drifted through to Lambert like a kind of meditative chant. “You can come if you want to, or not. Sometimes it feels good just to touch, even if there’s no goal in mind. I like the way my body starts to feel heavy and light at once. Everything kind of fuzzy, the edges of things going soft and hazy except where my hands are touching, because those places are bright and blazing.”

Lambert nodded shakily. He could feel his hands against his cock, stroking just right.

“You’re so good at this, Lambert. Gods, you just pick things up easy as breathing, don’t you? Can you show me what you like, what feels good?”

Lambert quickened his pace, twisting on the upstroke like Aiden had shown him. _Aiden_ was what felt good. Seeing and hearing Aiden, knowing that he was enjoying all that Lambert’s body could provide, that what Aiden wanted was for Lambert to feel good, too. The sounds Aiden had made as he’d climaxed welled up in Lambert’s mind, and suddenly he was stroking harder and faster, chasing his peak. He fell forward, bracing himself against Aiden’s shoulder and feeling Aiden catch him in his arms. He came with a shout that he tried and failed to catch behind his teeth, spilling over his fingers and going rigid as pleasure shook through him.

Lambert was laying on his side when he came down from his climax and found his way back to awareness. Aiden lay facing him, tracing his fingers up and down Lambert’s thigh in leisurely sweeps.

“You want to fuck me?” Lambert muttered. He was so relaxed now, he didn’t mind if Aiden wanted to. It probably wouldn’t hurt at all.

“No,” Aiden said. “Just enjoying how your skin feels. It’s new, having you so close to me and being able to touch. Like at a feast, when you couldn’t possibly eat another bite of food, then they bring out the chilled wine and you discover that it's quite enjoyable to sip.” He smiled. “And it would be even if there’d been no feast.”

“You comparing me to wine?” Lambert snorted. “Careful, you’ll be disappointed.”

“I won’t be,” Aiden said, and petted a hand through Lambert’s hair. “I’m saying I like touching you, not just for sex.”

Lambert frowned.“For what, then?”

Aiden thought about that for a moment. “Why does sinking into warm bathwater feel good, or brushing your hand against soft flower petals? Why do I still use that lavender soap you got me? Why do I prefer your special vodka over the swill they serve here? Because it’s nice. I enjoy it. It feels good.”

“You’ve got strange ideas,” Lambered muttered, but found he was too sleepy to work out a more cutting response.

“Yes, I do,” Aiden said, and pressed himself up against Lambert’s side.  
\--

Lambert sat straight up in bed, clutching a hand to his throat. He wasn’t choking, he realized as he gulped in breath. There wasn’t a hand in his hair, holding him down with his mouth stretched around the base of a cock. He was fine. The sky outside was still dark, but there was enough moonlight filtering through to make out the form in the bed next to him: Aiden, sprawled face-down. Aiden made an irritated noise and turned onto his side, and then his breathing evened out again.

Lambert eased himself out of bed and padded over to his pile of clothes. He could put on his gear while blind drunk or half dead, so the process went quickly: clothes, boots, armor, swords, all as silently as he could, his heartbeat screaming in his ears all the while. He needed to get out of here. Aiden would be awake soon, and--

\--and what?

Lambert paused with his hand on the strap of a saddlebag. Aiden wouldn’t hurt him, not physically, anyway. But Lambert’s cheeks blazed with shame as he remembered last night. Aiden hadn’t been able to fuck him or even suck Lambert’s cock when he’d wanted to. He’d said he wanted Lambert, and Lambert had believed him, but how could Aiden be anything other than disappointed?

A soft, inquisitive noise came from the bed behind Lambert. Out of time. 

“Lambert?” Aiden asked blearily. 

“I’m fine. Go back to sleep.” Lambert snatched up the saddlebag. He had to leave.

“Lambert? Where are you going?” Aiden sat up abruptly. He drew a quick Igni, and the room’s candles burst into flame. “Did I…” He took in the sight of Lambert in his armor, holding his gear, and reaching for the door. “Lambert!”

“No, I’m fine. It’s fine. Go back to bed.” Lambert never got what he wanted. Any minute all this would be taken away. Aiden had been more than generous with him. If Lambert asked for anything more, and Aiden said no, then Lambert would know, he’d _know_ how worthless he was. Good for a fuck and nothing else. So he wouldn’t ask. He’d just go. “I’ve got somewhere to be.”

“Lambert.” Aiden scrambled out of bed, tangled a foot in the sheets and nearly fell over, then stumbled to his feet and planted himself between Lambert the door. Aiden’s eyes were wide and wild, lips parted as he gasped for air, and he frantically threw open his arms as if he could bar the way. He was naked but for his medallion, hideously vulnerable next to Lambert, armed and armored as he was.

“I’ve got to go,” Lambert said faintly. It was difficult, looking into Aiden’s eyes, to remember why he had to get out.

“You can leave if you want to, but can you just…” Aiden scrubbed a hand over his face. “If you care for me at all, please just tell me what I did wrong. I did something you didn’t want, what was it?”

“Aiden, fuck.” Lambert read the terror in Aiden’s face, and realized what this looked like. He shook his head. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You didn’t either!” Aiden took a step forward, reaching for Lambert but not touching. “Don’t go yet? Please.”

Lambert looked into Aiden’s eyes, that familiar handsome face. He wanted that, wanted a place in Aiden’s arms and in his life, and why the fuck hadn’t Aiden figured out yet that Lambert wasn’t _worthy_ of something like that? Gods, it was going to hurt when Aiden finally realized what a worthless piece of shit Lambert was and left him. 

But Lambert wasn’t a coward. He couldn’t hurt Aiden now just to spare himself pain later. 

“Aiden...” he started to say, and trailed off because he didn’t know what came next.

Aiden watched, not moving, barely breathing, the whole red-hot focus of his gaze on Lambert. When Lambert couldn’t produce any other words, Aiden let out a shuddery breath and stepped aside, clearing Lambert’s path to the door. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, looking down at the floor. “Whatever it was, I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t. Fuck.” Lambert dropped his saddlebag, which suddenly felt as heavy as if it were filled with rocks. It hit the ground with a thud that made Aiden jump. “It’s not what you think. You didn’t do anything. Aiden.”

Aiden’s eyes rose to meet Lambert’s. In the candlelight, Lambert could see the wet tracks of tears on Aiden’s cheeks, see his hands at his sides shaking. 

“You don’t have to stay here,” Aiden whispered. “Just tell me what it was, so I don’t…” Aiden’s eyes wandered to the bed, then back to Lambert, and he swallowed hard. “I’m so sorry.”

“Melitele’s tits, I’m fucking this up,” Lambert growled. He remembered the searing horror he’d felt thinking of fucking Aiden, hurting him, and if that’s what Aiden was thinking right now--no. “Fuck, that’s not what happened.” Lambert swept forward and grabbed Aiden by the arm. “I just woke up and realized that I don’t get what I want.”

Aiden frowned at him, trying to work that through, and Lambert shook his head. He could explain better. 

“I don’t get what I want. I told you that. I don’t get what I want, but I wanted _you_ , and I got you, and that _doesn’t happen_.” Lambert looked at Aiden, at his wide, luminous eyes, and let out a despairing cousin to a laugh. “So it’s only a matter of time before I fuck this up, like I’m doing _right now_ , and I won’t be able to have it any more--have _you_ anymore. It’s gonna hurt really fucking bad when that happens. So it’s easier if I just leave first. At least that way I know the pain is coming.”

“Lambert,” Aiden said quietly, emphatically, and curled his hand around Lambert’s on his arm.

“That’s what this is. I woke up, and I was scared, but not _of you._ Never of you.” Lambert pressed closer, as if he could shield Aiden from his mistakes with his body. “You didn’t do anything I didn’t want, I swear.”

Aiden looked at him with narrowed eyes, and whatever he saw in Lambert’s face seemed to convince him, because he squeezed his eyes shut and nodded. Then he let out a sharp, pained breath, almost a sob, and his knees buckled. 

Lambert managed to hold onto him well enough to control his fall, folding to the floor with Aiden so they both ended up on their knees with Lambert keeping Aiden roughly upright and Aiden clinging to Lambert’s gambeson with trembling hands. 

“Breathe,” Lambert said. He pulled Aiden towards him, and Aiden collapsed against his shoulder, gulping for air. “I’m sorry,” Lambert whispered. 

There shouldn’t have been one fucking moment when Aiden felt anything less than fantastic about what he’d done for Lambert last night. Aiden shouldn’t believe for one fucking moment that he wasn’t good and desirable and brilliant the way he was always erroneously telling Lambert he was. That was on Lambert. He’d stay for as long as he needed to in order to make sure Aiden never doubted that again. 

Aiden’s breaths were evening out as Lambert rubbed circles against his back. After another moment, Aiden sat up and rubbed his arm across his eyes. His hands were definitely steadier, and he no longer looked as if he was on the verge of crumbling into an abyss. 

“I need…” Aiden swallowed hard, then looked up at Lambert. “You’d tell me if I hurt you?”

“I’d tell you,” Lambert said. If the alternative was knowing Aiden would be working himself into a frenzy like this after Lambert ran, then yeah, if Lambert had to leave he’d push down his pride and tell Aiden he was leaving because of his own fuck-ups, and not because Aiden had hurt him. “I swear.”

Aiden nodded, movements still a bit jerky. He pushed up onto his knees and leaned forward, pressed his forehead against Lambert’s and curled a hand around the back of Lambert’s neck, just breathing him in. Lambert’s heart squeezed as Aiden touched him, suddenly over-full with the need to show Aiden just how exactly he felt. 

Lambert took Aiden in his arms and tilted his head so he could kiss Aiden. Aiden kissed back, greedily pushing back into Lambert’s touch. They remained tangled, hands in each other’s hair and mouths moving desperately, until Lambert had to pull back for air, and then they slumped against one another, exhausted.

“It’s early yet.” Aiden gestured vaguely towards the window. “Come back to bed. Please?” 

“Yeah, all right.” Lambert nodded against Aiden’s shoulder. The idea of a warm bed with Aiden in it was appealing enough to drag Lambert up to standing. 

“Good.” Aiden reached up a hand, and Lambert obligingly pulled him to his feet. Aiden patted a hand against Lambert’s chest, then walked towards the bed. “Because my feet are getting cold.”

“Don’t you dare try to warm those things on me,” Lambert warned as he pried off his boots.

“Not even a little?” Aiden asked, and batted his stupidly long lashes at Lambert. 

“Maybe if you ask real nice,” Lambert sneered.

“I can be nice,” Aiden said with a sly grin.

The words hit Lambert in the gut, sending little frissons of pleasure shooting through him.

“Fuck you, get back in bed,” Lambert said, and thought he was doing an admirable impression of someone whose heart was not entirely too soft.

Aiden settled back onto the bed, holding his arms out patiently as Lambert stripped off his armor and his clothes in record time. And he was waiting still when Lambert was ready to join him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! Thanks everyone for your patience! Turns out giving two very traumatized characters some catharsis was more complicated than it seemed at first glance. Who knew?! THANK YOU for bearing with me on the journey of this fic--the encouragement of all you Laiden readers has made this happen. And yeah, I'm probably not done with this version of these characters, so there may be more in this 'verse someday. If you like, come find me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/brighteyedjill) where I mostly reblog witcher stuff nowadays.


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